


Everyone who loves you goes to heaven

by hueningkai



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst with a Happy Ending, Choi Beomgyu-Centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sad Choi Beomgyu, Second Chances, Soft Kang Taehyun, actor!beomgyu, alternate title: beomgyu is really dramatic and bad at feelings, but taehyun loves him anyway, someone give beomgyu a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24970396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hueningkai/pseuds/hueningkai
Summary: Beomgyu is definitely, absolutely, totally over his ex-boyfriend. He is, really.But then everything falls apart like this: A chance meeting, a misunderstanding, and a moment that's far too much like old times to remind him of how much he really misses Taehyun.
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Kang Taehyun, Choi Soobin/Choi Yeonjun
Comments: 114
Kudos: 540





	1. I.

Beomgyu would recognize those eyes anywhere.

He remembered describing them initially as "too big for their own good." He had later settled on “deceptively innocent.” Beomgyu had thought he was beautiful the first time they'd met, too. An angel, he thought again now. There was no way Kang Taehyun wasn't in some way ethereal. 

"Taehyun," His eyes widened fractionally; he really hadn’t meant to say anything. Beomgyu blamed it on those eyes.

"Oh, Beomgyu." 

Almost immediately Beomgyu wished he could wipe that look of recognition from Taehyun's face, somehow erase everything the other boy knew about him, the embarrassing things he'd shared, the times he'd made him mad, the memories that now held a version of himself that was lost to time. 

Taehyun waved the program Beomgyu hadn't even realized he'd been holding, "Congratulations."

Beomgyu blinked, his heart giving one strong push against his ribcage. "Thanks. It's just a small part."

Taehyun gave him a sage nod, his lips carrying just a hint of a smile. His hair was lighter now — a chocolate brown — and swept back in a style Beomgyu had never seen before. But it suited Taehyun well, in a way that made Beomgyu wish Taehyun had worn it like this just once while they’d been dating, so he could tell him. 

"Is it any good?" Taehyun asked. Startled, Beomgyu thought Taehyun had somehow been able to hear his thoughts. It wouldn’t be the first time he had known, unnervingly well, exactly what was going through Beomgyu’s head.

But, no, of course not. "The movie?"

Taehyun nodded again. This time it was two punctuated bobs — a prompt. 

Beomgyu blew out a slightly embarrassed breath, looking away towards the dark screen of the theater. He saw some of the cast mingling below, where he had been headed before being sidetracked by some pretty eyes — again. "Uh, I don't know. I didn’t see the full script, so I guess we'll find out."

The audition, casting and filming had all been far more subdued than Beomgyu had expected. A big film by a famous director to boot. He'd been ecstatic when he got the part, treating his friends out for a celebratory dinner even though he could barely afford it.

Starry-eyed and eager, he'd shown up on his first day of five, prepped with twelve lines. It all passed by in a blur. Quick handshakes and greetings followed by hollow periods of waiting; A few takes and a compliment that Beomgyu played over and over in his mind, keeping close to his heart as a badge of "yes, I did well" and then it was over. 

And then half a year later, a call. They needed him for a few more scenes, three more days. Reshoots were normal, Insong, his agent, had said. Keen and ambitious, Beomgyu had wrung a few more compliments from the director this time around, even gotten a couple phone numbers and a promise of "I'll give my friend a call; he's casting for a new pilot soon." 

"And does," Taehyun's eyes lowered to glance at the piece of paper, "gang member #2 do anything exciting?" 

Beomgyu lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing through a smile. "He's got a pretty kickass chase scene."

Taehyun hummed, as if considering. "You would be good at that."

Snickering, Beomgyu leaned forward, eyes sparkling because they always were and not because Taehyun was here. "I didn’t do three years of track for nothing."

"Then you better have outran them all." Oh, Taehyun's voice was warm. Oh no, his eyes were warm, too. Beomgyu straightened, feeling awkward all of a sudden. The suit he'd rented for the night now felt too tight, though he knew he wore it well.

"Uh, you'll see for yourself. I can't spoil the whole thing, you know," Beomgyu's voice was teasing, but he was scared Taehyun could hear the strained quality of it. 

He probably did. They were not that far off in each other's pasts that they'd had enough time to shed old tells, to become someone completely new and escape this uncomfortable familiarity. 

How quickly Beomgyu had grown to hate those eyes; it had only really taken this one short conversation. They’d seen far too much of him, moments he wished he could snatch back now. More than anything, Beomgyu wanted to go back to being strangers. He really shouldn’t have said hi. 

Just as he was searching for a way to ease the tension before departing swiftly, Taehyun’s eyes flickered over his shoulder. Following his sharp gaze, Beomgyu saw another boy, brown hair, gentle face, soft eyes. 

“Sorry, I’m blocking the aisle.” Beomgyu stepped back — perfect, he’d use this interruption to give Taehyun a quick goodbye before following this other boy down the steps.

Except the boy didn’t walk past him, he scooted into the same aisle as Taehyun. Okay, okay, that’s fine, Beomgyu could still make an escape. It worked just as well, really. But wait— the boy had sat down next to Taehyun, and before Beomgyu could toss out his prepped farewell — preferably for forever — Taehyun was glancing expectantly at him and saying something really, really strange, “Beomgyu, this is Hueningkai.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Hueningkai, this is Beomgyu.” Beomgyu briefly heard Taehyun say, face turned away from him now. Were they adjusting the theater screen or something? What was that buzzing sound? “We used to date.”

We used to date. Four words that minimized their three years of late night phone calls and Beomgyu stealing Taehyun’s food and after school trips to the arcade and Taehyun absolutely wrecking him at a game of tennis before Beomgyu promised to never play again into something trite but painfully accurate. 

“Yeah, we used to date ...” Beomgyu heard himself echoing, two pairs of eyes staring up at him. He didn’t know which one was more familiar now. “It’s nice to meet you.”

──────

“What kind of name is Hueningkai?” Beomgyu grumbled, shaking the bottle of sauce a bit too vigorously, though his present company was too preoccupied with their own food to restrain him — or more likely just not in the mood to contradict him when he was on one of his rants.

“It sounds foreign,” Seungbin mumbled around a mouthful of noodles, not even looking up from his bowl despite the fact his glasses were fogging up from the steam. 

“Yeah, he definitely looked foreign.” So fine, Taehyun had a new boyfriend. Fine, it was fine. Hadn’t he said he wanted them to be strangers again? Even if he hadn’t said it out loud, he’d thought it, right? This was all part of that. 

Beomgyu knew there would be pieces of Taehyun that he would never get to see, that Taehyun would move on and change and meet new people and be a new person. Hell, there was so much about Beomgyu that Taehyun didn’t know either. Not the way he cried for three days after not getting a callback for a part he’d desperately wanted — one he’d thought would make or break his career; not the way he was slowly learning to tolerate the taste of cilantro even though he nearly barfed when he forgot to ask the corner shop to take it out of his spring rolls that one time; not how much it hurt when he got his hair bleached because he had to sit in the salon for eight hours and go through three different treatments. 

He was slowly growing into a new Beomgyu, too. So it was all fine, really.

“If you’re not going to use it, pass it over,” Sangyoon said from his right, making Beomgyu notice that he still had a death grip on the bottle. He handed it over. “Was he cute?”

Beomgyu paused, stirring his chopsticks in his bowl, dragging the noodles one way and then the other through his slightly murky broth. “Yeah, but not as cute as me.”

Seungbin snorted, though he still didn’t look up from the bowl. “Give him some slack; the guy’s only had a year to look.”

“Please, it’s been, like, almost two years.”

“Really?” Sangyoon’s tone halted Beomgyu’s internal litany of it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. “Two years? Isn’t that kind of a long time to still be hung up on your ex?”

“It’s fine!” Beomgyu exclaimed, a bit too loudly into the brightly lit noodle shop, causing a few heads to turn their way. “I’m not hung up on him! It was just weird seeing him again, that’s all.” 

“Was it a bad breakup or something?”

“No, but it’s not like we really talked after, you know? The reason we broke up in the first place was we just … I don’t know, we grew apart? So there wasn’t much to say.” 

“Okay, so you saw him once, said hi, met his new boyfriend. You’re not going to see him again, so it doesn’t matter if he’s moved on, you’ve moved on, too,” Seungbin said, laying it all out rather logically for Beomgyu. 

When he put it like that, it really didn’t seem like a big deal. So why did it feel like Beomgyu was being punched in the gut every time he replayed Taehyun’s “we used to date”? Why was he even still thinking about it?

“Has he?” Sangyoon pointed his chopsticks at Beomgyu. “Have you even gone on one date after you split?”

Before Beomgyu could say you, Sangyoon cut in, “And ours doesn’t count.”

“Okay, asshole, I’ve been busy?” Beomgyu said, his voice rising once more. “You know, being the star of a movie?”

Both his friends rolled their eyes simultaneously. This was a familiar routine for them. But Beomgyu still felt great satisfaction in telling them to shut up.

──────

One of the biggest hazards of dating someone for such a long time, three years, almost both of their high school careers, was that it was practically impossible to keep separate friend groups. Anyone Taehyun knew, Beomgyu knew, too. It was inevitable; it had been comfortable. Until it became inconvenient.

Beomgyu was grateful, in a way, that their split had happened so late in his last year. Most of their friends were already in university anyway; Taehyun was a year behind him. Looking back, it had been the perfect time to break up, really. 

And Seungbin was right, he had met them, made new friends, grew into an improved version of himself with blond hair and an acting portfolio and perhaps a more refined palette. Each day would take him further away from the Beomgyu who had been Kang Taehyun’s boyfriend. It was fine. 

Sprawled on his bed, one of his pillows was digging awkwardly into his side, but Beomgyu had been too tired to move since he’d flung himself into this position ten minutes after coming back from dinner. Sangyoon had really insisted on getting three rounds of drinks, and if it weren’t for the last train leaving in 20 minutes, Beomgyu probably would have let him talk him into another.

His phone screen shone brightly above him in the dark room. His arm swaying slightly as he glanced at the chat. Beomgyu shook the foot that dangled off the edge of the bed, typing out a message with jittery fingers.

 **Beomgyu:** how was the flight  
**Beomgyu:** when are you free? Let’s go out I’ll treat

Letting his phone slip out of his hands, narrowly missing his head as it fell onto the bed with an echoing thump in the dim and quiet room, Beomgyu stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes. The occasional sound of a car driving by broke the silence and darkness, but other than that, there was no other way to gauge how much time had passed with him just lying there. The pillow was still digging into his side.

He really should get up, take a shower, or at least brush his teeth. Insong had promised to send over new scripts tomorrow. It had been two months since he’d done that apple soda commercial — he couldn’t afford to be picky or half-ass auditions at this point. He really needed to—

Beomgyu closed his eyes. He never got a headache from drinking. He was blessed with a great tolerance and a “flattering” flush, or so he’d been told but maybe it had just been someone trying to butter him up — the inconveniences of being so good looking, he thought. So why did his eyes really burn right now?

After running his repetitive recitation of “it’s fine” into the ground, Beomgyu’s mind had landed on one question somewhere between rounds two and three. He vaguely remembered subjecting Seungbin and Sangyoon to a six-minute-long monologue about how he hated that his first — and only — boyfriend would show up on one of the most important nights of his life.

“What was he doing there anyway? He doesn’t even like movies! Do you know how long I had to beg for him to watch ‘Lord of the Rings’ with me? And when we did, all he did was complain about how long it was taking and some bullshit school assignment that was due, like, hello? You’re watching a cinematic work of art, can you be any less unappreciative?”

Beomgyu pressed his fingers against his eyes. It was far too much effort to even think about opening them right now. Maybe if he just laid here — not moving an inch, barely breathing through his nose — tomorrow would never come. He could be suspended here in the darkness with the occasional rumble of an engine rattling his thin window. It was kind of a shitty oblivion to be subjected to forever, but somehow it seemed far more enticing than greeting the morning, reading lines for roles he wanted out of desperation rather than inspiration, going through the motions as he discarded more and more of himself. 

He didn’t know how long he spent on his bed before a vibration, louder than a distant car, tickled his right ear. Ah yes, other people existed, too. 

His fingers had been pressing against his eyes for so long now that when Beomgyu finally lifted them to grab at his phone, he actually felt a few tears slip down his cheeks. They stung for real now. Blinking a few times, Beomgyu squinted up at the fuzzy screen he held overhead with shaky arms once again.

**Yeonjun:** I feel like my ass is about to break i’ve been sitting for so long  
**Yeonjun:** airplane food is also shit but guess what I bought on the way home 

Beomgyu snorted, thumb running over his smooth screen as he typed out a quick response. He didn’t dare glance up at the time. 

**Beomgyu:** chicken

**Yeonjun:** ding ding ding we have a winner  
**Yeonjun:** let’s go to that place by school sometime

**Beomgyu:** god I haven’t been there in forever okay

**Yeonjun:** next week maybe? Soobin should be done with exams soon

**Beomgyu:** I haven’t seen him in forever too

**Yeonjun:** okay next week, I’ll ask him

Beomgyu fell asleep before he could hit send on his reply. 

──────

As far as Wednesdays went, this one was going considerably well. Usually, Beomgyu hated feeling like he was stuck in the middle of the week, having exerted so much energy to get through Monday and Tuesday and all he had to show for it was two more days to struggle through. But he was excited about a script for the first time in months, and he could feel it; this was his next big role. 

Things had slowly tapered off after opportunities and calls and auditions fell through after reshoots for the movie wrapped over a year ago, but this would redeem him. Hell, this would be much better than a brief appearance — a cameo, really, little better than an extra — in an albeit profitable and popular film. 

Beomgyu sat at his small dining table, scanning the fifth script Insong had sent him this week. His eyes whisked over it briefly before glancing at another one, considerably more worn in the corners than the rest in his stack, on the side of the table. 

Taking a sip of his tea — he was still detoxing after that splurge session with Seungbin and Sangyoon the past weekend — Beomgyu tossed his current script aside, taking the other one out of the stack and reading it once more, maybe for the fourteenth time, he wasn’t keeping count. 

It was an ensemble drama; on the surface it sounded trite — even boring: Sixteen episodes of seven people living in a shared house. However, something about the way the script was written, the dialogue between the characters, made it feel so raw. Certain lines had immediately settled in Beomgyu’s bones, rattling around in them until they grew comfortable and familiar. He wanted this part, bad. 

Just as Beomgyu was re-reading a particularly engaging scene, his phone buzzed on the tabletop.

**Yeonjun:** morning  
**Yeonjun:** chicken and drinks saturday?

**Beomgyu:** it’s 6 pm  
**Beomgyu:** what time?

**Yeonjun:** it’s called jet lag maybe if you actually came to visit me you'd know  
**Yeonjun:** 7

**Beomgyu:** maybe if you didn’t spend 12 hours sitting on a plane you’d have an ass  
**Beomgyu:** Soobin coming?

Beomgyu let out a loud shriek at the meme Yeonjun sent in response, letting his phone clatter on the table as he threw his head back, cackling. Through his boisterous laughter, he heard his discarded phone ping again, still chuckling as he picked it up.

**Yeonjun:** yup tomorrow’s his last day 

**Beomgyu:** YES let’s celebrate!

**Yeonjun:** sounds good since it’s your treat lmao

Sometimes Beomgyu really hated being the only one who was employed. Employed being an extremely loose term in his case. He had been doing better over the fall — but now that school was winding down and the winter was settling in, places weren’t looking to hire part-timers anymore. He had money from his parents — and Beomgyu knew he was lucky for it — but it didn’t feel right. He was the one who chose to pursue an acting career in favor of going to college. This was his thing. He wanted to own it completely. He turned back to his script.

──────

Beomgyu had only seen Taehyun a handful of times since they’d broken up. He didn’t count the time they were still both in school for two months. He definitely didn’t count the week after their breakup when they didn’t really know how to tell their friends yet. Those couple months had been stained with fresh clumsiness and an intimate discomfort. It was better to forget about them altogether. 

In the year after graduation though, Beomgyu had come up with a hypothesis. By the summer, it had become a full-fledged theory: People only appeared if you thought about them. 

When he was sixteen, he had suddenly remembered his old guitar teacher, a friend of the family, from Daegu while out shopping with Taehyun. They’d passed by a music store and Taehyun had casually asked, “Do you actually know how to play one of these? Or is the guitar in your room just to charm girls?” It had been before they started dating, but Beomgyu distinctly remembered wanting to at the time.

“I took lessons when I was young; I still play sometimes.” Beomgyu raised his eyebrows, already knowing how charismatic his looks were at that awkward age where most people were still growing into their own skin. “Let me play for you sometime.”

“Do you know ‘Sunkissed’?” Taehyun asked, not giving any indication that he was impressed at all by Beomgyu’s talent — or dazzling looks. Beomgyu hadn’t known Taehyun well enough yet to realize that his question alone meant he’d taken the bait.

But not two days after that conversation in passing, Beomgyu had gotten a text from his father saying his old teacher had moved to Seoul, that he should go greet him and take some food. And so that weekend he’d begrudgingly cancelled plans with Yeonjun and brought some cake he’d bought with pocket money at a corner bakery to go see his teacher. 

The first time Beomgyu had seen Taehyun again was much the same. Beomgyu had gone to pick up a few things he’d left at his friend’s dorm a couple weeks after school ended. Unbeknownst to him, one of Taehyun’s hoodies had snuck its way into his things, another hazard of dating for so long. In a moment of weakness, Beomgyu had worn it around his new apartment for a week, changing into it after a tiring day of auditions, and then eventually washing it and burying it under his mountain of clothes in a fit of frustration. 

At the end of that week, Beomgyu had gone to an out-of-the-way bookstore because it was the only one with the acting manual he wanted in stock. While leaving the store, he’d spotted Taehyun across the street. 

Even now, Beomgyu remembered what he had looked like with startling clarity — because Taehyun hadn’t changed, not really. Not in the four months they’d been apart. But Taehyun had suddenly looked more beautiful than Beomgyu remembered, whether it was because of the light or the sheer surprise of seeing him again or the fact that the smell of his hoodie still lingered in Beomgyu’s hair. 

Beomgyu had quickly turned around and camped in the bookstore for another hour — just in case. He had flipped through his book, casually leaning against a shelf. No big deal, he’d thought, he would just get a head start on reading, he didn’t have other plans that day anyway. 

After that, Beomgyu had started being cautious. He wouldn’t think about Taehyun. It might seem counterintuitive. Wasn’t thinking of not thinking about him still thinking about him? Beomgyu had considered that for an afternoon, giving himself a rather nasty migraine, but came to the conclusion that no, it didn’t count. Regardless, he was firm about keeping Taehyun out of his thoughts. And it had worked, for the most part.

He’d slipped up a few times: The first time he’d picked up his guitar again post-breakup, his fingers instinctively strumming the melody to ‘Sunkissed’ before he stopped himself; when he brought some new friends to his favorite tteokbokki place, before remembering that it had been Taehyun who had introduced it to him. 

Yet by far the most detrimental moment to Project Forget Kang Taehyun was when Beomgyu’s school hard drive crashed six months post-breakup, and he had desperately taken it to the store to fix. After an hour of waiting and then another hour of fiddling and plugging in and restarting and cracking open and more waiting, they’d come to the conclusion that everything was gone — more than three year’s worth of papers and projects and scripts and files; more than three years with Taehyun. 

Maybe Beomgyu had cried that night, maybe Beomgyu had thought a lot about Taehyun that night.

Though perhaps the one thing that reminded Beomgyu most about Taehyun weren’t items or places or even photos, it was the friends that had nearly been as intertwined in their relationship as they’d been. 

It hadn’t been a conscious decision at first — he’d made new friends, those who were taking acting workshops with him, those who he saw frequently at auditions, production assistants and makeup artists in the industry who said they would put in a good word to producers and directors and writers they knew — but Beomgyu had eventually seen less and less of those friends he and Taehyun shared, until their messages became few and far between and their meetups even less frequent.

It hadn’t occurred to Beomgyu how long it’d been since he’d seen Soobin until he stepped off the train, his feet taking him by instinct to the street carts lined up outside station entrance 3. There had been a span of years when Beomgyu had been able to walk this path blindfolded. “Soobin!” Beomgyu’s boisterous, infectious voice rang out in the space between them. 

Soobin glanced up from his phone, his black hair slightly curled, making the gentle boy look even softer than Beomgyu remembered, his round nose, slightly pink from the cold, wrinkling as he smiled. “Beomgyu, it’s been a while.”

Beomgyu approached Soobin with a wide grin, bumping his shoulder in greeting. “I think last time was around summer. How was Chuseok at your place? Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

Soobin chuckled, wrapping an arm around Beomgyu as they shuffled in the tight space between commuters and shoppers on the sidewalk. “Don’t worry about it; it was great. How have you been?”

“Just reading a bunch of scripts and doing a lot of auditions. I’m quite in demand, you know. If you want an autograph it’s best to ask now while I still remember you,” Beomgyu joked, leaning into Soobin’s side and hearing the older boy giggle. “Oh! Guess what I saw on my way back from an audition yesterday?” 

Beomgyu didn’t wait for Soobin’s reply before launching into an animated description of a couple he’d seen on the train last night. His story was occasionally punctuated by wild gestures and loud exclamations, with Soobin nodding along, chuckling and giving him barbed retorts that were sharper than what someone who looked like him was capable of. 

“Yo!” A loud call stopped Beomgyu mid-description. Both he and Soobin turned towards the sound, spotting a tall boy with striking blue hair, wide lips and radiant eyes. 

“Yeonjun!” Beomgyu exclaimed, arm flailing as he waved wildly at Yeonjun, whose eyes flashed at hearing Beomgyu speak informally. As soon as he was close enough, he jabbed at Beomgyu’s side, “Just because you’re an adult now doesn’t mean you can speak to me like that.”

Beomgyu snickered, his mouth gaping wide. Despite not seeing Soobin or Yeonjun for months, there was no awkwardness. And the three of them bundled together quickly as they made snide remarks and jabs, walking the two blocks to the chicken place that was just as comfortable as each others’ presence.

Settling down across from both Soobin and Yeonjun, Beomgyu waved at the staff. The smell of oil and seasoning and salt and a slight tang of chili hung in the air. He’d practically worn this scent like a cologne when they were in high school, coming here at least four times a week. As Soobin placed their order, Beomgyu and Yeonjun chatted easily. 

Beomgyu definitely didn’t look at the empty chair next to him.

──────

It had gone well, hadn’t it? The producers had seemed pleased, the director, too. Beomgyu thought he’d had good chemistry with the girl who had read with him — so did she, apparently, since she’d wanted his number after. 

He had gotten a callback days after his first audition, so why was he now on the subway, two weeks later, not having heard another thing? The uneasy feeling that had started off as just a slight pressure in his chest last week had now grown into something menacing. 

Beomgyu rubbed at the sore spot now, his foot tapping a staccato rhythm on the floor incongruous with the slow, melancholy melody playing in his ears. He leaned against one of the side partitions of the train as it sped through the cool November air. 

It was just before the afternoon rush hour, early enough that it wasn’t crowded but late enough that there were no seats left. Outside the train windows, the sun was going down — a brilliant dash of red and orange and purple bruising the sky. It looked like it hurt. 

The robotic voice over the intercom indicated it was his stop: Sincheon. Beomgyu checked his texts again as he stepped off the train. Nothing new from Soobin, just his “Ok I’ll meet you there thank you!” from thirty-two minutes ago. 

“Why would he text me?” Beomgyu had actually asked out loud when he’d received Soobin’s initial messages. 

There had been three:  
**Soobin:** Beomgyu are you free?  
**Soobin:** I need help  
**Soobin:** can we meet up? 

Surprise was the first thing Beomgyu had felt, as he read the texts dated fifteen minutes ago while squashed between some friends at their favorite tteokbokki place — yes, the one Taehyun had shown him. After leaving the company, Beomgyu had needed a particular sort of pick-me-up that only big crowds, loud friends and good food could provide.

Relief was the second thing he felt, quickly eclipsed by a third: worry, a slow-creeping sort of alarm. Beomgyu’s mind whirred through what could possibly be happening right now. They were close — they always would be after growing up together, sharing so much of themselves and their past with each other — but they didn’t do this sort of stuff, not anymore. 

Regardless, they were friends — best friends, right — so Beomgyu had quickly bid his company friends goodbye, pretending he’d forgotten about other plans, left and hopped on the train.

Rushing out of the station, Beomgyu quickly put the address of the coffee shop into a maps app, cursing internally at the nine minute walk time. He ran.

The inside of the shop was a blend of art pop and cozy chic. It didn’t seem to want the panting boy in a loose shirt, sweatpants and baseball cap who had barreled through the door three minutes late. 

Beomgyu saw Soobin sitting at a high table near the back wall and waved before quickly diverting to the counter to order. There were no frappuccinos or fizzy fruit blends on the menu here. And it was how much for a cappuccino?? Beomgyu barely suppressed his wince as he handed over his card.

The first thing Soobin said when Beomgyu appeared at his table, hoisting himself into a high chair was, “I watched your movie.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened, legs immediately bouncing under the table. He remembered mentioning that he’d gotten the part to Soobin, hell, he’d been so excited he probably would have told anyone in Seoul who would listen to him at that point. 

They had maybe texted a few times while he’d been filming, but Soobin was busy with school, and they didn’t even see each other that much anymore. Beomgyu hadn’t even told him the movie was out yet when they’d last met. 

As if reading the bewilderment on Beomgyu’s face, Soobin chuckled, thumb flicking at the loose tab of his hot drink. “Taehyun told me he went to the premiere. What a coincidence, huh? But he said it was good.”

Beomgyu could feel himself gaping like a fish. Hearing Taehyun’s name when he least expected it felt like he’d been impaled in the gut. Beomgyu didn’t even know he and Soobin still talked, but of course they did, they were friends, too. When did they meet? Where did they go? Or was this over text? A phone call? The questions blurred in Beomgyu’s mind, unsatisfying but insistent. “Does he- does he talk about me?”

Soobin’s lips pursed, folding in to make him look more like a bunny. “I guess so, I never really noticed since we’re all friends, you know? I remember he talked about you a lot when you guys first broke up,” Soobin gave him a crooked, awkward smile. “But whenever we meet up nowadays— just from time to time, I guess.” Soobin gave him a decisive nod, eyes clear as if his words hadn’t just thrown Beomgyu off the emotional equivalent of a 60-floor high rise.

“Oh,” Beomgyu breathed out, and even that small noise had to be punched from his chest. Sure he and Taehyun split on relatively good terms. There had been no big blow up or shouting match or even that many tears, but sometimes that made the heartbreak even more bitter. 

In a way, Beomgyu had wished they could have given their ending some sort of justice, given it a bit more levity, anything to look back on and blame and say “this is where we went wrong.” 

But instead, seemingly, one day they were together and the next they weren’t and every day after that was a resolute, melancholy march in the opposite direction from each other. Beomgyu flinched, and Soobin seemed to take that as his fault.

“We don’t say anything bad. He never said anything bad. I mean, you guys were cool after, right?” Soobin shuffled, as if he could hear Beomgyu’s uncomfortable thoughts. 

“Yeah,” Beomgyu choked out. He took another sip of his drink, the coffee against his tongue no more bitter than the word he’d just spat out. Yeah, they were cool. He was cool. 

“Sorry,” Soobin twisted his lips, eyes wavering as he glanced at Beomgyu, then away. 

Trying to school his features, Beomgyu just shrugged, not really trusting himself to speak, briefly wondering what kind of expression he had on. Making an effort to widen his eyes, his words maybe coming out faster than he intended, Beomgyu leaned forward, asking, “So what was up with your text? Your emergency was that you saw my movie and had to tell me how amazing it was immediately?”

Even though Soobin’s smile widened, he also visibly tensed, and Beomgyu had to say he was liking this reversal of roles. Soobin flicked the tab of his drink again, sighing, “I wanted to talk to you about … uh, dating.”

Beomgyu’s face stretched into a grin, at ease now. He was fine with dating, relationships even, as long as Taehyun wasn’t in the picture. “I’m flattered Soobin, but I can’t get cuffed while I’m on the cusp of fame.”

The dark-haired boy snorted, “I would never date someone famous. That sounds like a pain in the ass on top of, you know, who you are as a person.”

Beomgyu leaned back, bug-eyed and clutching his chest, “I run here in your time of need and this is how you treat me?”

Soobin quickly waved his hand between them, reaching with his abnormally long arm to pat Beomgyu on the shoulder once, twice, in a placating gesture, letting out a stilted laugh, “I was joking, Beomgyu; you are such a good friend, anyone would be lucky to date you. I mean, you’re famous!” Soobin’s exaggerated smile made Beomgyu want to punch him, instead he choked on his laughter and caffeine. 

“So, who’s your second choice after me?”

The discomfort was back in Soobin’s gaze, his posture suddenly as flexible as a sheet of glass. Breakable. And for how genteel and earnest Soobin had always been, Beomgyu would never have described him as breakable. He wasn’t weak. 

“I- I don’t know if I should tell you this,” Soobin paused a bit, seemingly warring with himself as Beomgyu rocked his legs impatiently under their narrow table.

“Now you don’t know if you should tell me?” Beomgyu asked incredulously, though in a jovial and teasing way, wearing those mannerisms like a second skin.

Soobin bit his lip, working the edges of his mouth the same way he did when Beomgyu and Yeonjun had wanted to do something incredibly stupid but said they wouldn’t have fun without him. Finally, Soobin sighed, “Has Yeonjun texted you?”

“Honestly, as far as second choices go, Yeonjun isn’t bad,” Beomgyu perked up, his grin a shining, shit-eating one.

Soobin recoiled, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. “Has he uh … told you anything?”

“About wanting to date?” Beomgyu asked, not quite following what Soobin was saying though the growing redness on the other’s face was slowly making it clear.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Soobin sounded defeated, “No, no, he said he’s coming back to Seoul for his last year of uni.”

“Oh, really? Like next year?”

“No, like, now. He said he’s not leaving when the semester starts again.”

Beomgyu blew out a breath, his eyebrows shooting up. No, Yeonjun certainly hadn’t told him about this. A slight pang bounced around Beomgyu’s chest until he took a big sip of his drink; who knew overpriced coffee would be so good at dulling aches. 

Soobin continued, “So, I never told you guys this, but, um, at the end of our senior year, Yeonjun told me he liked me.”

“No way,” Beomgyu deadpanned, his eyes rolling to the top of his head so hard he feared his contacts would get stuck.

“Wha- what? Beomgyu what do you mean?” Soobin spluttered, looking disproportionately indignant for someone who had asked Beomgyu here to talk about his problems.

“I mean it was so obvious you guys liked each other. Taehyun and I talked about it all the time.” Beomgyu hadn’t meant to let his name slip. He cleared his throat, “Like whenever we all hung out, it was pretty much a double date.”

“I- That’s not true. We were not dating,” Soobin said, a bit too adamantly for someone who had once made goo-goo eyes at Yeonjun all day when the four of them had gone to the amusement park. Beomgyu would have whipped out the photos as proof right this moment if they hadn’t, unfortunately, been lost to Apple’s shitty quality processing system or something. 

“Okay, okay, fine, so he confessed. You turned him down?” It was pretty much a rhetorical question because even though they’d grown apart and Yeonjun had moved, he would like to think he’d know if two of his best friends were dating. Beomgyu waved his hand rapidly, signalling for Soobin to hurry up with the story.

Sighing through a smile, Soobin explained, “Yeah, I- I turned him down because he was leaving in just a few months, you know? And we were both going off to college, and I didn’t know what was going to happen and I was scared.

“I thought that was the end of it. Like, it was a weird thing but we forgot about it. Whenever he visited or when we talked, it didn’t come up again. I think we both tried to not make it awkward. 

“But then today, he suddenly texted me saying he was near campus and we should go get a late lunch, and I was free, so I said ‘yeah, sure, why not’. And as we were eating, right over the jajangmyeon—” Beomgyu snorted because the way Soobin said it, he would have thought Yeonjun had committed first-degree murder in that restaurant. “He said ‘hey Soobin, let’s date now.’ Let’s date? Let’s date??”

Soobin slumped back in his chair, exhausted from dumping his tame-to-mild-at-best problem on Beomgyu’s lap. 

“And? What did you say?” Beomgyu prompted.

“Well, I choked on the jajangmyeon, first of all, and then after hacking it up, I said I needed to think about it and then just ate like the world was ending and left right after,” Soobin pouted. “And then I texted you.”

Beomgyu let out a peel of laughter so loud some girl studying two tables over shot him a dark look around her laptop. “You’re so stupid!”

“Beomgyu,” Soobin whined, brows furrowing, lips trembling. “I panicked!”

“You dumbass,” Beomgyu spat out in between fits of giggles. His feet kicking beneath the table, his shoulders shaking madly. Still letting out occasional chuckles, Beomgyu said, “Just say yes!”

“What if I don’t want to?” Soobin asked indignantly.

“That’s a big, fat lie,” Beomgyu said, finger wagging between the two like a mother admonishing her child. “You guys have been in love since sophomore year of high school. God knows what you both were like before I even got there.” 

“Okay, yes, I liked him, but that doesn’t mean I want to date him!” 

“Don’t be silly, of course you want to date him.”

“No, I don’t!” Soobin sounded firm this time, his agitation starting to show on his face. Soobin didn’t get angry easily, he didn’t even get stressed easily. Soobin was probably the most mild-mannered person Beomgyu knew. 

“Okay, fine, why don’t you want to date him?” Beomgyu crossed his arms, humoring him. 

“What if we ... don’t like each other as much as we thought?” As Beomgyu opened his mouth to tell him why that was dumb as hell, Soobin put up his hands to stop him. He knew Beomgyu too well, too. 

“I mean, it’s been so long since we’ve actually spent time together for more than a few days. What if he’s not the same Yeonjun I had a crush on back in high school? And I’ve changed, too. What if we’ve already fallen out of love and just don’t know it yet?”

Beomgyu pursed his lips, elbow resting on the table as he thought for a moment. “It’s not that easy to fall out of love. You’ve known each other for, what, six years now?”

Soobin nodded slowly, going back to flicking his cup.

“And how long have you liked him?”

“Maybe five and a half years?” Soobin mumbled.

“You think neither of you have changed at all in five and a half years?” Beomgyu asked.

“I guess,” Soobin said, quietly, lips pursed. There was a moment's pause. “And what if we break up?”

Ouch. 

“And what if an eight-foot shark suddenly grew legs, rampaged around Seoul and ate one of you while you were in line for fish cake?”

Soobin giggled, “That’s so dumb.”

“Exactly.”

Soobin nodded, sloped nose and head tilted downward, making him look so round, so soft. “Okay, you might have … many points.”

Beomgyu wiggled his head happily, an easy smile on his face. “I know; that’s why you came to me!”

The two of them chatted for a while longer, Soobin needing the distraction after wasting away his entire afternoon on thoughts of Yeonjun. The clouds slowly grew darker and darker until the bruise in the sky turned mottled and purple. 

Beomgyu caught Soobin up on his auditions. He complained about having to wait and how much he wanted this part, Soobin giving him sympathetic looks all the while, agreeing with him when he said the second production assistant had been so annoying.

The constant stream was the only thing that stopped Beomgyu from asking Soobin if Taehyun had mentioned his new boyfriend. It was fine; he had brought the younger boy up so long ago, it’d be weird to ask about it now. 

Before they parted ways outside the cafe, Soobin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Thanks for coming today, I know we haven’t- it’s been a while.”

Beomgyu grinned casually, a slight twinge of guilt flaring in his chest. Most of it had been him, he knew. 

“I’m going to do something for my birthday next week,” Soobin said, nodding eagerly. “Will you come?”

“Of course!” Beomgyu chirped, feeling the residual need to patch things up with Soobin, to make it up to him somehow for the past two years of distance. “Just tell me where and when.”

The train was crowded on his way back home, but Beomgyu was thankful that he could get lost in the crowd. Buried between shuffling businessmen and rowdy middle schoolers, Beomgyu wished — not for the first time — it was that easy to fall out of love.

──────

**Yeonjun:** Soobin is so stupid god help me 

Beomgyu snorts as he reads the message off his lockscreen. He was currently curled into a ball on his sofa binging every Best Picture Oscar winner since 1998 in an attempt to drown out the consistent and alarming buzz of failure and dread that seemed to claw at his chest and make it hard to breathe whenever he thought of his callback, which was now three weeks out without any news. 

Any day now Beomgyu dreaded opening up his browser homepage or his email or turning on the TV or maybe even just scrolling on Twitter and seeing the cast for up-and-coming brilliant producer Oh Hyerim’s new ensemble drama and realizing he had still not heard anything, because he was not going to be in it.

Maybe Beomgyu hadn't been as good at pretending everything was fine recently, or maybe his agent was just alarmed by the long stretch of time he was going without a job, because Insong had actually shown up unannounced at his apartment earlier this week. God, what day was it even? Either way, maybe two days ago Insong had shown up at his door to personally hand him more scripts and even a couple possible modeling bookings because he’d been “in the area” and thought to just “drop by and check on things.”

Maybe Beomgyu had been feeling too pathetic at the fact his agent had felt it necessary to also act like a glorified babysitter that he had let Insong talk him into going into the company later this week to get his measurements taken and updated headshots done for a comp card. It was like a business card but for models, Insong had explained. 

He wasn’t a model, Beomgyu had wanted to scream. But shame had made him stay silent.

He was supposed to go in tomorrow to get them done, on Thursday. Huh, so today was Wednesday. He hated Wednesday’s. 

**Yeonjun:** how could he do this to me

Beomgyu sighs, not even bothering to pause “Chicago” as he picks up his phone. Yeonjun had been complaining nonstop for the past 20 minutes, and if it weren’t for the fact that Beomgyu had not put it past the older to show up at his door, too, he would have continued ignoring him. 

**Beomgyu:** ikr how dare he try to plan his own birthday party

Already seeing the three dots pop up at the bottom that signalled Yeonjun typing, Beomgyu quickly locked his phone so the older’s reply wouldn’t automatically be marked as ‘Read’. Tossing his phone by his curled feet, he leaned against the back of his couch once more and fixed his eyes on the screen. He was busy. 

Beomgyu must have fallen asleep — an unfortunate affliction he’d recently developed, probably out of a lack of things to do and the misery weighing down on him whenever he was, you know, thinking. He wouldn’t mind it so much if it weren’t for the slow drag back to reality each time, where his brain had to spend 10 minutes reorganizing itself only to realize, oh shit, we’re still here. 

When Beomgyu woke, he began by registering the coarse brush of the sofa cushion against his cheek; his body was still warm, huddled under the afghan he’d dragged onto the couch with him, but he could feel the cool air threatening to seap down the little gaps by his neck. He tucked his chin in, his half-lidded gaze cloudy as his brain refused to kick-start back to life. 

This was the sort of oblivion he could sink himself into, not uncomfortable with a pillow digging into his side and the smell of smoke and alcohol and grease pressed uncomfortably into his skin. Beomgyu’s feet were cold; he tucked his knees in tighter. 

“Lord of the Rings” was playing on screen. 

Drenched in a haze that only a specific mix of denial, wistfulness and a lingering, soaked desperation could bring, Beomgyu mumbled, eyes already closing to shut the world out again, “Hyunnie, don’t you hate this movie?” 

──────

“What? You’re not coming?”

Beomgyu huffed out an exasperated breath as he rushed down the sidewalk, already late. “I told you, it’s my friend’s birthday tonight.”

“Well, can’t you tell them something came up?”

Maybe not keeping track of the date had been a bad idea. Maybe allowing himself to lie in bed the entirety of Friday and today had been a bad idea. Maybe everything that had culminated to this moment of him running down a busy street Saturday night, a present tucked under his arm that was mostly likely going to be crushed when he arrived — at least Soobin would know who it was from without needing a tag — had been a bad idea: leaving school, thinking he could live on his own, thinking he could do any of this on his own. 

“No, I literally can’t. It’s my friend’s birthday, are you stupid?” Beomgyu didn’t care that his words had come out venomous. His friends were used to his mood swings. They were all like him, too: shallow, reckless, hopeless. 

“Whatever, if you’re not going to come to workshops then don’t fucking whine about not getting any jobs.”

Beomgyu shoved his phone back into his pocket with a scowl, anger heating up his face even though the evening chill was relentless. Fuck him, he thought, as he tried to not think about the words that came a little too close to the truth.

Yeah, fuck him was a lot easier to digest right now.

Even when he arrived at Soobin’s building, slightly out of breath, Beomgyu could still feel the simmering anger under his skin. And under that, guilt. And under that, a space so vast that it scared him to even consider tackling whatever the hell was going on down there. So he gripped onto his fury like a lifeline. 

**Beomgyu:** i’m here

Hurt wasn’t quite the right word to describe what Beomgyu felt when he’d gotten Soobin’s text earlier, but it was close. The message had been innocuous enough for Beomgyu to think he was being silly; it was stupid, there could be a number of reasons why Soobin told him to text when he got here instead of telling him to come up like all the other times he’d visited before. God, has it really been more than a year since? 

Well, it wasn’t like he remembered the code anyway.

Shifting from foot to foot, Beomgyu huffed out deep breaths, using the anger in his stomach as a furnace to keep warm. His eyes kept flickering around the familiar front of the building. It was tiled in an awful matte grey color with four glass doors at the front. The doors on the left were always locked — Beomgyu had found out the hard way after slamming into them excitedly way too many times. 

He remembered the first time he visited: Soobin hadn’t even moved in yet. At that time, to the Beomgyu who was going to be left behind in high school, the prospect of a studio apartment, the idea of living alone, was the coolest, most dazzling thing in the world. He and Taehyun — mostly him — had pestered Soobin to show it to them constantly until Soobin finally got the keys a week before moving in.

It had been dusty and bare and there was a faint stain in the far left corner of the ceiling that was water damage waiting to happen, but Beomgyu had been enamored. He remembered deciding then and there that he would move out after high school, too. He remembered telling Taehyun they should—

How long was Soobin going to keep him out here?

He checked his lockscreen: four minutes had passed.

 **Beomgyu:** LET ME IN

The sound of footsteps behind him made Beomgyu look up. At least now he could tailgate and wait in the lobby. That was a bit less pathetic than standing outside in the cold on your supposed best friend’s birthday almost an hour late because they were too busy having fun with their other friends to let you in.

“Oh, hey.”

Oh. Oh no. Beomgyu had fucked up: this is what he got for thinking about him. He’d been doing too much of that lately in the month since their chance premiere encounter. 

The anger in Beomgyu’s stomach felt a lot less like rage now and much more like the cold soba he scrounged up for lunch, and it was currently threatening to come back up. Beomgyu whipped around.

He was met with Taehyun’s smile. God, his eyes were so bright. 

Beomgyu must have managed to strangle out a greeting in return because Taehyun nodded, his eyes reflecting the street light.

Oh god, Beomgyu could not do this right now. 

“Did you text Soobin?” Taehyun’s voice was steady, soft.

Obviously Beomgyu was the only one having a crisis here with the way he had to shove his hands into his pockets because they were trembling so much. “Yeah, he hasn’t answered.”

Taehyun shrugged, and only then Beomgyu noticed the white turtleneck and black peacoat he wore. He’s never seen either of them before — they must be new. “I’ll wait with you. He’ll probably see it soon.”

Oh, this was not fair. Beomgyu rocked back and forth on his feet, nodding assertively like he wasn’t about to throw up. “I hope so; it’s really cold,” Beomgyu smiled widely. “My face is probably going to be beet red by the time he lets us in.”

It had always been hard to make Taehyun laugh. Or no, sometimes it was easy, Beomgyu used to make him laugh without even trying; it was just hard to know what would set him off.

But Taehyun laughed now. It was a small one: a quick flash of slim teeth. But for just a moment he looked like he was 16 again. Beomgyu couldn’t breathe.

“I forgot you hate the cold,” Taehyun smirked, arms crossing. “This is definitely Soobin paying you back for arriving late.”

Beomgyu let out a scoff, though it was hollow because hello, there was currently no air residing in his lungs. “It’s basically my personality at this point. He can’t punish me for that.”

Taehyun just hummed in response. The two of them falling silent.

Beomgyu couldn’t look directly at Taehyun or else his eyes would get all prickly and weird. So he glanced at the uneven pavement under his boots, the gates of the houses across the street, the license plate of the car parallel parked next to them like it was a line in one of his scripts he was trying to memorize. 

All the while his brain played the windows shutdown sound on repeat.

The quiet between them seemed to expand as the seconds ticked on, threatening to engulf Beomgyu completely. It was suffocating. It was all too familiar: Taehyun’s hum, the gentle hush that followed. This lull in their conversation that had always felt like a balm between their rapid-fire comments and excited rambles. A place where Beomgyu could just be with Taehyun, with nothing in between. 

He could not be with him right now.

He had to put something between them right— “The movie! What did you think?” 

Taehyun pursed his lips, just slightly, but enough for Beomgyu’s heart rate to speed up: “I didn’t think you were very good.” 

Beomgyu froze on his toes. He’d never pegged Taehyun as someone who was vindictive. All these years, he never thought Taehyun hated him. 

What he’d told Sanghoon and Seungbin had been the truth. They’d split on okay terms, hadn’t they? They were fine, weren’t they? Fine, fine, fine the chant from that night almost a month ago was now making a very unwelcome return.

“I asked you about the movie, not me,” Beomgyu pouted, trying to brush it off. But something must have given him away — or perhaps Beomgyu had just not been as successful, as fast as Taehyun in becoming someone new — because Taehyun gave him a knowing smile.

When Taehyun smiled he no longer looked distantly beautiful, no, he was beautiful in a different way — golden, precious, like something to be cherished. “You were never any good at taking criticism.” And Taehyun had the nerve to giggle. Giggle. 

“Wha-” Beomgyu stuttered, his mouth pulling comically wide, wondering if his mock outrage could successfully mask its genuine counterpart. 

Taehyun was smiling wide enough that the corner of his eyes crinkled — there had been a moment in Beomgyu’s life when he would have done anything to make Taehyun smile like that. But Beomgyu would not continue the train of thought about cherishing him right now, no. 

“What part of my performance was so unsatisfactory?” Beomgyu sniffed, all pretenses about not being annoyed flung out of the window at just one slight provocation.

Taehyun had once told him, “You’re not good at lying at all.” 

He had been annoyed at Taehyun over something dumb — he couldn’t even remember what anymore; it had always been like this. They rarely fought, at least not the kind that mattered, the kind that was actually worth remembering. It had always been these little spats and small frustrations. 

They’d been on the bus, and Beomgyu had been petty and hadn’t wanted Taehyun to sit next to him, so he had sat next to a stranger instead, forcing Taehyun to choose between standing next to him in the aisle or a seat further back in the bus. It had been a small victory; they always got off at the same stop anyway.

As they walked through their neighborhood, Beomgyu pattering on about some new game he was playing probably, Taehyun had dropped that bomb. 

Beomgyu had argued with him about it then, but — as he often was — Taehyun had been right. He always knew when Beomgyu was lying, no matter what. 

Much later, they’d been laying on the floor of Taehyun’s room, windows open to let in the air though it was muggy and humid all the same. The plants on the sill, from when Taehyun had his brief foray into botany of all things, moving far too occasionally with the spare breeze. A small rotating fan was the only thing keeping the two of them from sinking into heated despair.

It was silent as Beomgyu played some game on his phone and Taehyun read a comic next to him — just another afternoon among a myriad of similar days that blended together more and more with each year tucked between them — when Beomgyu suddenly turned on his side, “Hey, Taehyun.”

He received a slight hum in response. “Do you think I’ll be a good actor?”

Taehyun had glanced up then, his eyebrows quirking but he didn’t bother asking Beomgyu where this had come from. “Of course, hyung.”

From anyone else, Beomgyu would not have settled for this noncommittal placating, but he knew Taehyun didn’t give false compliments. “But didn’t you say I’m not good at lying?” 

“Is that what acting is?” Taehyun asked back, putting down his book; the two of them lay facing each other, both their bangs damp from the heat.

“I mean, yeah, maybe? I’ll have to pretend a lot, won’t I?”

Taehyun furrowed his brows, “You’re not good at lying because you always show how you’re feeling. Like, it’s so easy to tell when you’re annoyed because you try not to smile and that makes your dimple show.” He reached out to tap right where Beomgyu’s solo dimple would sometimes appear.

Beomgyu shrank back, a traitorous smile forming on his lips, “I’m not annoyed!”

“Hmmm, but you’re smiling like you are.” Taehyun seemed relaxed, a lazy smile of his own spread across his face. 

“I’m not! I just … “ Beomgyu trailed off, finger tapping against the wooden floor. “Hey, teach me how to lie.”

“I’m not good at it either, hyung.”

“Yes you are! I never know what you’re thinking,” Beomgyu frowned.

“Maybe you’re just exceptionally bad at reading people,” Taehyun giggled, turning on his back.

Beomgyu shrieked, hand reaching out to shove at Taehyun’s shoulder but it was so hot in the room the two of them were practically glued to their spot on the floor. 

“But don’t worry,” Taehyun’s voice was honeyed and warm as he gazed at the squares of sunlight on the ceiling. “You’ll be a great actor.”

How quickly that had turned into “I didn’t think you were very good.” 

Taehyun had replied with something, Beomgyu was sure of it. He could see his lips — lovely — moving and maybe, if he strained his ears hard enough above the echo of “didn’t think you were very good”, he could even make out a few words: feel, anything, you.

Oh god, he hated this.

“Not everyone can be naturally talented at everything like you, Taehyun,” Beomgyu sniffed, jutting his chin out. By all counts it would seem like he was joking, his exaggerated manner, the way he tried to keep the bitterness from weighing down his tone.

But Taehyun could tell. “You know that’s not true; that’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Taehyun seemed unfazed, his wide eyes holding his steady. “I’m not. I know you’re really good, hyung, that’s why I can tell you these things.”

Hyung. Oh no. Taehyun couldn’t call him that — didn’t get to call him that anymore. Certainly not after their break up; certainly not after telling Beomgyu that his crowning achievement as an actor was subpar in every way. 

Distantly, Beomgyu heard a familiar chirp. 

His phone. Soobin. 

It was like being jolted out of a haze — slowly the sound of a car driving by on some distant road filtered in, the cracked pavement now bathed in a yellow light as the night grew dark around them came into focus, and finally, Taehyun looking at him expectantly at the center of it all. 

Beomgyu glanced down at the phone he didn’t realize was still in his hand. 

**Soobin:** sorry!! The keypad is still broken :(  
**Soobin:** I just buzzed open the gate. Come in you know where my apartment is  
**Soobin:** Door’s unlocked

“Soobin?” Taehyun prompted.

He nodded weakly, turning around quickly and making his way to the glass doors. Beomgyu was having an out of body experience. That was the only thing that could explain how he was feeling right now. He couldn’t tell what was between him and Taehyun at this moment. Did they just have an argument? A disagreement? Was he the only one feeling this unbearable pressure in his chest that make it hard to take in more than little gasps of air? 

Beomgyu could hear Taehyun following behind him but didn’t dare glance back. They waited for the elevator in silence.

But this was a different kind of quiet — no longer comforting or familiar. This emptiness was bursting at the seams. 

Neither of them spoke during the ride up to Soobin’s floor. And if this wasn’t an out of body experience, Beomgyu really didn’t know what it was, because before he knew it they were outside the apartment and his fingers were trembling as they reached out towards the doorknob. Had he really not been back here since then? 

Soobin’s apartment door was an off-color green, faded and uneven. There was a patch near the bottom that was slightly discolored; Beomgyu knew without even having to look, because it was his paint job.

It’s just a door, Beomgyu told himself. 

He knew what he would find on the other side. Familiar couches and maybe a bigger television and Soobin’s smiling face. So why was he so scared? Why was he convinced that the teary-eyed, blank-faced Taehyun from his memory would be there, too?

“Beomgyu?” Taehyun’s voice seemed overly loud in the empty hallway. Beomgyu flinched, just slightly. 

“Uh,” Beomgyu paused, curling his fingers into a fist and knocking on the door. 

He couldn’t do this right now. He felt like his legs would give out at any moment. He couldn’t look at Taehyun.

But his theory was useless now that the boy himself was a mere three feet away. So fuck it, fine, he would think about Taehyun. He would think about the slight crease between Taehyun’s brows, and the hurt in his eyes, and the slight frown that still only did nothing but make his face more beautiful when Beomgyu said he wanted to break up. 

He would remember the feel of tears — far too commonplace nowadays — as they tipped past his lashes and the way Taehyun’s eyes had grown red at the sight of them. He remembered his breathy, weak, “I’ve got to go” and Taehyun’s resigned nod, even slight smile. Acceptance followed by heartbreak — they’d done it all wrong. 

Soobin’s front door swung open, and Beomgyu jumped. 

As if watching from afar, he smiled at Yeonjun, he joked about being late, he nodded readily and stepped into the apartment like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t about to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this really started off as a simple taegyu ex-boyfriends au like three months ago and somehow ended up being a long ramble about heartbreak and beomgyu and heartbroken beomgyu. i've had this in drafts for so long so i am just happy that it's finally out, thank you if you've read this far!!
> 
> i know we didn't see much of taehyun, hopefully i’ll be able to show you the wonderful and lovable sides of him that beomgyu sees in the next chapter. 
> 
> i'd love to hear what you think, and feel free to also leave thoughts on [twitter](www.twitter.com/suwubins) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/suwubin) <3


	2. II.

Beomgyu realized he loved Taehyun the first time he saw him cry. 

Maybe it was because being overtly emotional was just so unlike the Taehyun he knew at the time, or maybe because he had been crying over a movie, and something about that spoke to the sentimental, fatalistic part of Beomgyu. 

They were sitting so close that their legs brushed and Beomgyu could feel the slight rise of Taehyun’s shoulders against his own as the other drew in shaky breaths, tears streaming down his cheeks, and bold sniffles easily filling all the empty spaces in the small room. 

He really hadn’t expected Taehyun to cry. But now that he had, Beomgyu couldn’t help but feel a vague sort of panic accompanied by an unexpected tenderness in his chest. Maybe it was reckless of him, but Beomgyu wanted to believe that if they had been anywhere else besides Taehyun’s bedroom, tucked cozy against his headboard, just the two of them, he wouldn’t have been so quick with his emotions. This was a Taehyun only Beomgyu got to see. 

Beomgyu smiled fondly, fingers gentle as they dabbed at a few of the tears lingering on Taehuyn’s cheeks, before leaning over to grab some tissues from the bedside table — only slightly hindered by the fact that their hands were clasped tightly together, but Beomgyu would rather risk falling than let go.

Tissues acquired, he returned to lightly wipe Taehyun’s face, a wide grin splitting his own, eyes shining in a different way. “Hyunnie, it’s not that sad,” he giggled. 

“Shut up,” Taehyun pouted, as even more tears seemed to spill from the edges of his eyes. “The only reason you’re” —his breath hitched— “not crying too is because you’ve seen this before.” 

Beomgyu reached over to pause the movie; he certainly wasn’t looking at anything but the distraught, but ever-so-endearing, tear-stained face of the love of his life. 

And maybe Beomgyu had a flair for the dramatic, but he’d always thought that falling in love would be like a revelation, a hallelujah moment that would only happen when the stars aligned and the moment was perfect. He never expected to fall in love in a dim, slightly messy room with “Toy Story 3” playing in the background and the occasional sounds of Taehyun’s mom making dinner downstairs. 

But maybe he hadn’t been too far off. Maybe the heavens hadn’t opened up and there was no blinding beam of light and chorus of cherubs — only the fading sunset framing the curtains they’d hastily pulled shut an hour ago — but Beomgyu was still fairly sure Taehyun was heaven-sent. Beomgyu had never been sure of anything as much as this: Taehyun was an angel, even with red eyes and a puffy nose and tears still clinging to his lashes.

He squeezed Taehyun’s warm hand in his own, the secure grasp of their intertwined fingers a safety net of sorts as he leaned forward and placed his daring, resolute but infinitely fragile heart on the line, “Taehyun-ah, I love you.”

There was only a slight pause before Taehyun began crying again in earnest.

──────

And so they started dating. Soobin and Yeonjun, that is.

Yeonjun had told Beomgyu the news, all sparkly-eyed and wide smiles and flushed cheeks over a bowl of pho. Apparently Beomgyu’s talk with Soobin had worked, though the couple hadn’t made it official until Soobin’s birthday — how poetic. 

_Good for them,_ Beomgyu thought. He _was_ happy for them. This was good — no, this was great. He knew that. But somehow he’d still been unable to meet Yeonjun’s eyes when he congratulated him. 

The blaring of a horn caused Beomgyu’s heart to leap as he shot a dirty look at the driver over his shoulder. The brisk December air whipped around him and he once again regretted not bringing a coat to the studio. It proved to be a mistake when his shoot ran overtime and the temperature dropped, leaving him to walk back to the company in the cold. 

Who knew: He was actually cut out for this modeling thing. Beomgyu had never had any delusions about his looks. He knew he was handsome; he knew he had the typical large eyes, straight nose, sharp jaw, and tall stature. But even he knew he only got booked for this job because Insong probably worked his ass off to get him work. He’d send him some macarons or something as thanks.

Just as he reached the lobby of the company, his face feeling the sting as it tried to thaw from the cold, Beomgyu heard his phone chirp in his pocket. A text: Yeonjun. He instinctively smiled. 

Beomgyu hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the older for the two years Yeonjun had been gone. It had just been one more uncomfortable feeling buried between new scripts and hurried castings and trying too hard to impress new friends and his ever insistent need to leave anything and everything having to do with Taehyun behind. 

In a flurry of heartbreak, Beomgyu had quickly forgotten about how he and Yeonjun used to play basketball — badly — way past midnight on school nights; how they had tried to cheat off the same guy in junior year and both ended up failing; how they could spend hours walking through the busy streets of Seoul feeling like the world was theirs to conquer. 

He let his heart ache now, two years later; he’d missed this. Beomgyu hadn’t even realized how much until he was staring at his phone screen, fingers already typing out an affirmative reply to Yeonjun’s invite without needing to consider whether or not he was up for someone else’s company right now. 

Beomgyu quickly grabbed his bag and coat, throwing consecutive greetings and goodbyes to the company staff and Seungbin, before catching a bus to where they’d arranged to meet. 

“Yo, you look fancy,” Yeonjun said by way of greeting, eyes flitting over Beomgyu’s face — making him remember that he still had make-up on from his photoshoot. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, I didn’t get dolled up for you,” Beomgyu teased, his nose scrunching.

“Please, I’m already taken; this—” Yeonjun waved in the general vicinity of Beomgyu’s face— “has never worked on me.”

Soobin was already waiting for the two of them when they arrived at the restaurant. He was picking at a small dish of peanuts and waved eagerly as the two bundled in from the cold. “Beomgyu, how did your photoshoot go?”

“Oh it was good, actually not too different from movie shoots,” Beomgyu said, draping his coat over the back of his chair and taking a seat. “Of course, I didn’t have to work that hard because I’m naturally—”

Soobin cut him off by waving the waitress over, and Beomgyu stuck out his tongue like he was eleven years old again and Soobin had just bought the last red bean bun from the snack cart after school. 

As they waited for their orders, Beomgyu regaled the two of them with more anecdotes from his day. As they laughed and teased each other, their voices blending with the usual chatter that accompanied late hours on a work night, it was almost — keyword: almost — easy for Beomgyu to forget that his friends were in love.

Except for the way they were sitting too close together, even on separate stools. Except for how Yeonjun would sometimes look over at Soobin just so he could watch him laugh. Except for the gaping emptiness to Beomgyu’s right that he refused to look at or acknowledge because he knew if he did all he would see is his slumped bag instead of bright eyes and a sharp smile.

He was happy for them, he really was. But he could be happy for them and envious at the same time, couldn’t he? Did that make him a bad person?

It wasn’t like he wanted them to break up; he actually feared that more than anything — Beomgyu swiped his hand over his face to try and stop his current train of thought, feeling the unpleasant drag of his foundation on his palm. Soobin and Yeonjun didn’t need him concocting doomsday scenarios of their newfound relationship as if it was a ticking time bomb. No, he was sure they would be fine; besides, he’d grown to be well-suited for loneliness by now.

When the food arrived, Beomgyu was too preoccupied with fighting Yeonjun for the largest piece of beef that he didn’t immediately notice when Soobin answered his phone. “Yeah, we’re eating — the one by the arcade …” and a slight pause before, “... you guys can come over if you want?” The rest of Soobin’s conversation faded into the background when Beomgyu realized Yeonjun was winning their chopstick duel.

It wasn’t until Beomgyu was halfway through his first bowl of rice that he remembered what he’d overheard. “Oh yeah, are your friends coming?”

Soobin jolted, swinging his gaze away from Yeonjun. “Huh? Yeah, I hope that’s okay. We can get more food.”

Shrugging, Beomgyu looked over at Yeonjun who mirrored him. “Sure, we can order whatever they want,” he said, putting down his bowl to pick up the menu again. “Let’s get some beers, too.”

Beomgyu allowed the loud atmosphere of the restaurant, his present company, and the two beers he’d quickly downed between his first and second bowls of rice to lull him into a sense of complacency. He knew he was being loud, but he didn’t care; it felt like it’d been so long since he’d been so genuinely carefree.

The trio had just broken into raucous laughter after Soobin nearly tipped over backwards in his chair when an all-too-familiar voice sent a chill down Beomgyu’s spine. His shoulders tensed immediately — a knee-jerk reaction as if his body was bracing itself for unexpected, immediate pain.

He refused to look to his right as he swiped his bag off the extra chair and dumped it on the floor. As Yeonjun and Soobin greeted Taehyun, Beomgyu took a big sip of his beer, buying himself time to figure out what the sudden knot in his chest was. It felt different from the debilitating sadness that had made it’s home there more frequently than Beomgyu would like — he would recognize that with no problem. It took three more swallows of his drink before Beomgyu pinpointed what it was: Betrayal.

Soobin, maybe even Yeonjun, had known that Taehyun was coming; they’d known and hadn’t even bothered to give him the courtesy of a warning. He set down his bottle with a louder than necessary smack on the table. Yeonjun shot him a weird look, but didn’t say anything as the waitress approached their table to take a third round of orders. 

One hour: That was all Beomgyu could endure before he felt like he was about to burst out of his skin, or burst into tears, whichever one came first. 

If either Yeonjun or Soobin had noticed his subdued behavior since Taehyun arrived, neither of them gave any indication. He heard his phone go off in his jacket pocket once, and suspected it might have been Soobin, but he ignored it. If he had to read the words “Are you OK?” or even a “What’s wrong?” he was either going to have a breakdown or start yelling at his friends in the middle of this restaurant and that would be horrible for everyone involved.

So he drank maybe one, two, three more bottles of beer and tried to cope with the continual feeling of falling that was going on in the pit of his stomach by eating too much marinated beef and chili shrimp. 

All the while, Beomgyu could hear Seungbin’s voice echoing in his ears: _"Two years? Isn’t that kind of a long time to still be hung up on your ex?"_ Why was this so hard? It had been two fucking years. Why was this so hard for him? Taehyun seemed to be fine — the real kind and not the frenzied, futile kind Beomgyu said he was. 

Taehyun had moved on, too; so why was he still sitting here trying so hard to keep it together two years after _he’d_ been the one to break it off? 

Beomgyu laughed a beat too late at Yeonjun’s joke, and he felt more than saw Soobin giving him an odd look. Fuck, he couldn’t do this. How dare Soobin try to pity him when he was the one who had put him in this situation. 

He was barely aware of moving until the screeching sound of his chair scraping backwards cut the conversation at the table short. Beomgyu could feel the heavy weight of their eyes on him, his own eyes pinned on his leftover bowl of rice. “Uh, sorry. I’ve got to go to the company early tomorrow; I just remembered.” He was a bad liar, just like Taehyun had said. “I should get going, sorry.” 

After a brief moment of silence, Taehyun spoke, “I should get going, too.” He glanced up at Beomgyu who had already stood up in his haste. “Are you taking the train back?”

Beomgyu quickly shook his head, not quite meeting Taehyun’s eyes as he stooped low to grab his bag. “No, I’m going to grab a cab.” Internally, Beomgyu winced. After the tab tonight he couldn’t really afford a taxi, but if Taehyun still lived near his old stop, they’d be going the same way, and Beomgyu didn’t want to have to fumble and force his way through an awkward train ride together. He didn’t know if he’d survive it in this state.

In response, Taehyun just shrugged, tossing his goodbyes at the couple across from them and motioned for Beomgyu to lead the way out of the restaurant. 

As they exited into the cold, Beomgyu breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly turned towards Taehyun, willing to look at the other boy now knowing that it would be a swift goodbye. 

But Taehyun made no move to leave as they stood on the curb backed by bright lights. “Um …” Beomgyu began awkwardly, hoping it would prompt Taehyun to say ‘see you’ or something similar so he wouldn’t have to be the one to start such an obvious lie.

Instead, Taehyun said the worst thing possible. “I’ll get a cab, too. I probably shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

Beomgyu nodded rapidly, likely looking slightly unhinged and quickly turned to face the street. They were on a busy strip with stores and other restaurants around them, and every time they saw a cab it was either already flagged down or occupied. Beomgyu wrapped his jacket around himself with a huff, scanning the section beyond the red light, hoping his salvation in the form of a boxy, smelly car would magically appear. 

Even though his eyes never left the road, he could feel Taehyun next to him. It made him antsy; it made him ache. 

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight.” Taehyun sounded defensive, as if he’d been able to sense Beomgyu’s accusatory aura all throughout dinner. 

It was shitty of him, but Beomgyu pretended not to hear Taehyun over the sound of traffic. 

“You look good.”

God, could Taehyun stop talking please. 

“I like the glitter.” Even without looking, Beomgyu could hear the teasing smirk in Taehyun’s voice. 

He’d told himself he wouldn’t look, but turns out no matter how much time has passed Taehyun would always have the ability to draw him in. It wasn’t like he was particularly irresistible — though his looks were certainly attractive — Taehyun was just … warm, in a way that made him yearn for it. And how in the world was Beomgyu supposed to not look when he was freezing?

The light spilling out from the restaurant behind them caressed the tips of Taehyun’s hair. He had it swept back again today, like in the movie theater more than a month ago. The smirk Beomgyu had been hoping to see was now gone though — he’d missed it. “It’s just from a photoshoot.”

Taehyun nodded, the glow from passing headlights making his smile look kinder. Taehyun had always, always felt like coming home. “I’m glad things are going well for you.”

If only he knew. 

But for some reason, hearing Taehyun say that, as if he actually believed Beomgyu was the fine he pretended to be, made him feel a little better. At least he was doing one thing right. “Me too— I mean, I’m glad you’re good, too. How is Hueningkai?” 

“He wanted to come tonight, but something came up with school.”

“You guys go to school together?”

“Yeah, that’s how we met.” 

“Are you … happy? Together?” Some vicious, cruel part of Beomgyu needed to remind himself that, in fact, nothing was going right.

But maybe fate was willing to spare him for once because Taehyun didn’t answer as his arm flung out wildly; the screech of a car stopping was followed by a taxi magically appearing in front of the two. Beomgyu stepped back, so ready to say goodbye — again — but also dreading their parting far more than he would have admitted. Tonight had felt different; different from the falsely jovial exchange that veiled past hurts and bottled anger outside Soobin’s apartment. Tonight, this simple, short conversation, had felt like them — even if it had been the farthest thing from about them as it could be. 

To Beomgyu’s surprise though, Taehyun didn’t get in the car. Instead, he waved for Beomgyu to come forward, a slight frown on his face. “You have to get up early tomorrow, right? I’ll get another one.”

The next thing Beomgyu remembered was Taehyun’s soft, “Good night, Beomgyu” before the cab door closed, sealing out the rest of the world with Taehyun in it. Beomgyu managed to mumble out his address for the driver before the tears started falling.

──────

Everything about their relationship had started with Beomgyu.

It had been Beomgyu who had made the first move — plopping down next to the younger on the grass by the track where they were having P.E. class to introduce himself, all sweaty and panting from having sprinted through his mile so he would have more time to work up the courage to approach him.

He’d been rewarded for his efforts with a name: Taehyun. 

From then on, Beomgyu’s persistent greetings slowly garnered him a friendly smile, then a greeting in return, then small talk in between their classes. Until one morning Taehyun approached him with bright eyes and pink cheeks, a breathless “good morning, hyung” barely out before he was asking if Beomgyu could help him with a magic trick.

Cute, Beomgyu had thought, dutifully selecting a card when prompted. If it had been anyone else, Beomgyu would have thought magic tricks and sleight of hand to be, well, rather trite and kind of boring, but something about Taehyun made it exciting. Or maybe it was just because Taehyun himself was exciting.

It wasn’t so much the tricks that impressed Beomgyu, but the effortless way Taehyun could draw him in with his big, wide eyes, infectious smile, and rhythmic voice. There was no way to not be completely enthralled and enchanted until the younger was flashing the very same card Beomgyu had just pulled a minute ago with a satisfied grin. 

Containing a smile that threatened to creep onto his face, Beomgyu raised his eyebrows, eyes pulling wide with exaggeration. He raised his hand up to his mouth and let out a little mock gasp. Although he was sincerely surprised — it was just more fun to tease Taehyun this way. Taehyun had rolled his eyes, reshuffled his deck, and, with a nearly wicked grin, asked Beomgyu to pick another card. 

Two months: That’s how much time it took before Taehyun agreed to hang out with him outside of school — and only if he promised they would study. Beomgyu had never cared about the class rankings on the rickety board by the stairwell until he realized Taehyun’s name was at the top.

They’d gone to the corner convenience store to buy snacks and then promptly returned back to Beomgyu’s place to do work — which meant doing half a worksheet each before Beomgyu needled him into abandoning their books to play games and watch videos on his phone. 

Beomgyu remembered the way his heart had sped up when Taehyun bent his head close so they could both see the screen. He’d suddenly been so nervous he feared that he would throw up even as he laughed and tried to remind himself to look away from Taehyun every few seconds so he wouldn’t be caught staring. The awful yet exciting feeling of being with the boy he liked — it was addictive.

Once they’d discovered that they lived close to each other, Tuesday and Thursdays quickly became Beomgyu’s favorite; neither of them had extracurriculars or cram school. They could go home together. 

“Your friends are nice,” Taehyun had murmured, the two of them gripping the overhanging handles on the bus.

“Soobin likes you.” Beomgyu snapped his head up. “I mean, he likes you as a friend, he does not have a crush on you or anything.”

A small chuckle escaped Taehyun. “If I hadn’t also met Yeonjun-hyung, your explanation would have sounded really suspicious.”

“So you picked up on it too, huh?”

“I don’t think they’re trying to hide it, hyung.” There was a bit too much teasing in Taehyun’s voice. It made Beomgyu’s heart leap, so he decided to ignore it. 

“They’ve been like that for a while.” 

“How long have you known them?”

“I met Soobin when we were really young; we used to be neighbors until his family moved. I met Yeonjun over a year ago, I think? When Soobin-hyung started school.”

“He introduced you two?”

“Yeah.”

“I would have thought the opposite. You and Yeonjun seem pretty similar.”

Beomgyu snickered. “I think if we had met without Soobin we would have either fought each other to the death or committed highway robbery by now.”

Taehyun’s teeth flashed in a bright smile. His smile had been the first thing Beomgyu had noticed about him, months ago when he was just some stranger with beautiful eyes and the cutest, sharpest grin Beomgyu had ever seen. He would never get tired of it.

“Yeonjun seems friendly.”

“What? You don’t like him?”

“No, of course not. He just, I don’t know, he seems kind of fake?”

If it was anyone else, Beomgyu would have immediately gotten offended for Yeonjun. Was he going easy on Taehyun because he had a crush on him? Did that make him a shitty friend? “So are you calling me fake too?” He pouted, sidestepping the guilt that nudged at the back of his mind. 

Taehyun gave him an unreadably long look. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes sparkled, like he was pleasantly surprised. Beomgyu couldn’t help but feel like he’d won some sort of prize, though he didn’t know what it was quite yet. “No, hyung, I can read you pretty easily.”

“Kang Taehyun, don’t underestimate me! I can be mysterious if I want to be!” 

At that Taehyun let out a loud peel of laughter, his eyes scrunching up in the most adorable way; Beomgyu nearly fell sideways on the bus, so enamored by Taehyun’s outburst that he’d nearly lost his grip on the handle. 

Taehyun reached out to steady Beomgyu with a hand on his shoulder, not knowing it messed with his equilibrium far more than any jostling of the bus could. “I misspoke, sorry; I don’t think he’s fake. He really is nice. I just can’t figure him out.”

“You just met him.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Taehyun scrunched his nose as if he was slightly miffed. Beomgyu had found it incredibly cute.

It had been in a dusty classroom after school as the early evening sunlight casted steep shadows across the stone floor when Beomgyu finally worked up the courage to confess. He’d been panting and out of breath from racing back after cram school. With each step taken on the stairs up to the third floor where he hoped Taehyun was, he’d chanted _please, please, please let him still be there._

“I heard from Yeonjun that someone’s going to confess to Taehyun today,” Soobin had told him halfway through their cram lessons. 

The casual way Soobin had mumbled it between bites of his snack did not give justice to how those words halted Beomgyu’s world. “Today?” He barely managed to croak out.

“Yeah, after his club I think. Who do you think it is?”

“I- I don’t know. Who could like _Taehyun?_ ”

“I don’t know, but a lot of people in your year, probably; he’s handsome. What about that girl from last week?”

“They were just studying,” Beomgyu was quick to refute, his heart pounding all the while. Why was it suddenly so hot in here?

“Maybe not for her,” Soobin shrugged, ducking back into his classroom as a small bell signalled the end of their break. 

Their conversation had haunted Beomgyu the entire fifteen minute run back to school. His sneakers squeaked on the top step as he positioned himself to shoot down the hallway. The immense pressure building in his chest deflated a bit upon seeing Taehyun wiping down the board in the empty classroom when he came barreling in. 

And now, Taehyun was giving Beomgyu a quizzical look, arm lowering as Beomgyu tried to catch his breath.

“Beomgyu?”

Taehyun’s inquiry was met with loud gasps. 

“Did I forget we were going to hang out today? Why didn’t you just text?”

Because what I need to say shouldn’t be done over text, Beomgyu had wanted to say, but he was still in the process of trying not to cough up one of his overexerted lungs.

Taehyun approached him, a fond smile on his face though his head remained tilted as if he was running through all the reasons Beomgyu could be here and still coming up empty.

Before Taehyun could reach him though, Beomgyu shot up to full height again. His chest was still heaving, but he had a bright smile on his face, “Hi!”

Taehyun paused just before him, his eyes scrunching up in a smile. “Hi. What’s going on?”

“Taehyun,” Beomgyu said loudly, though that seemed to be the end of his confidence because Beomgyu suddenly couldn’t find his voice anymore, but Taehyun was looking at him so expectantly and with the softest smile and despite all his fears and all the things he’d thought could go wrong that he’d used to talk himself out of doing exactly this each time before, he knew he could overcome them for Taehyun. He inhaled sharply, “I like you, Taehyun-ah.”

A pause. Then, a benediction: “I like you, too, hyung.”

──────

Soon.

That’s what they had told him at the callback, after the production assistant had joked with him about that weird commercial on TV. 

That’s what Insong had told him when Beomgyu pestered him for the first two weeks about when he could expect to hear back, before he finally felt too pathetic to ask afterwards but still meagerly hoped, each morning waking up and blindly grabbing for his phone wondering if he had a missed call.

Beomgyu shivered as he opened his eyes, his right cheek warm from being pressed against his pillow all night. It’d been raining yesterday, and he’d left the window open, because it used to help him sleep when he was young. At least he finally got one good night’s rest. 

A deafening ping right next to his ear caused him to jolt in bed, letting in a draft under his blankets that had him shivering again. He snaked his arm out to grab his phone, before bringing it and his hand back into the relative warmth of his comforter. Only for a moment did Beomgyu’s heart beat with maybe, maybe, maybe before he saw Yeonjun’s name on the lockscreen. The text on top:

**Yeonjun:** I’ll buy lunch if you come before noon

Unlocking his phone he quickly swiped through the previous three texts he’d received and typed out his reply: _I am a starving artist I would never turn down free food._

At least that was before he saw the time at the top of his screen: 11:12 A.M. 

Damn, he’d really overslept. 

But did it really count as oversleeping if he had nothing to do and nothing to look forward to? If he hadn’t promised to help Yeonjun move in today, he would have spent it just like the ones before: Pacing his apartment, jumping at every beep his phone made, too scared to scroll social media, too despondent to actually get any script reading done. 

He knew it was counter productive, but something in him kept telling him that if he just held on a bit longer, he might get the part — and even if he moved on, he probably wouldn’t get anything else either; what was the point in exchanging effort for more disappointment. Burying his face in his pillow Beomgyu blew out a deep breath before finally getting up. No way was he going to make it by noon.

True to form, Beomgyu showed up twenty minutes late to Yeonjun’s but whined so much after carrying four boxes up to the fifth floor that the older agreed to buy lunch just to shut him up. 

Yeonjun, Soobin and Beomgyu were now sitting on the floor using an overturned cardboard box as a table to eat takeout Chinese food. Halfway through shoveling some noodles in his mouth, sitting between his two friends, it dawned on Beomgyu that he was the perpetual third wheel now. Huh. His heart gave an uncomfortable sort of thump in his chest.

It wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like they excluded him or anything — but would they? They’d eventually want to do couple things wouldn’t they? They had to go on dates, which, obviously, Beomgyu couldn’t— wouldn’t want to go on. Beomgyu rubbed at the sore spot at his sternum, suddenly not so hungry anymore. 

After lunch, the three started unpacking the boxes they’d dragged up, with Soobin and Beomgyu calling out to Yeonjun asking “where the hell does this go?” every five minutes. Finally, Yeonjun got fed up and instructed them to open up the rest of the boxes in the living room before disappearing into his bedroom to continue unpacking. 

The living room was silent as Beomgyu and Soobin wrestled with the boxes. Whoever packed them did a thorough job because they were hard to open, like turn the tips of your fingers red, dig into the grooves of your palm, hard to open. Frustrated at a particularly stubborn flap, Beomgyu used the remaining strength left in his arm to rip it off the box completely. He was rewarded with an immediate soreness in his shoulder. 

“Whoa, just use the scissors,” Soobin said, not looking up from his own box.

“I did,” Beomgyu snapped back. Maybe he had been in a rush and didn’t make sure the tape had all been severed but it was _tape,_ it shouldn’t be this hard to rip. 

“Okay…” Soobin paused, hearing the change in Beomgyu’s tone. “Well, don’t hurt yourself over there.”

Too late. “No, you’ll just tell Taehyun to come over again to do it for me.”

Oh hell, he’d thought whatever residual bitterness he still harbored from this weekend had been washed away by his tears that night, but apparently not. Beomgyu quickly grabbed another box from beside him, stabbing it unceremoniously with the scissors — fine, Soobin wanted him to use them?

“Wha— wait, Beomgyu don’t stab it! That’s Junie’s stuff!”

“Junie?” Beomgyu sneered, head whipping to look at Soobin, his previous target forgotten between his hands.

“Yeonjun,” Soobin corrected, seeming a bit flustered, but his expression quickly morphed into a frown, lips turning downward and making the dip in the middle become more pronounced. “What’s gotten into you? What do you mean about Taehyun?” 

“You know what I mean. It was pretty shitty of you to not tell me he was coming last weekend.”

Soobin looked mildly guilty before he shook his head. “Okay, I didn’t tell you; I’m sorry. But I didn’t think it was a big deal. Yeonjun said you guys talked on my birthday. I didn’t think you’d be upset about it.”

So they talked about him — more specifically, they talked about him and Taehyun. Okay, okay, okay. “Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not going to work. If you’re trying to get us back together—.”

“No, what— Beomgyu, what? I’m not trying to get you guys back together. I just thought with Yeonjun back and you and Taehyun talking again, maybe we could go back to the way things used to be.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Soobin pouted, a bit hurt. “Why not?” 

“Why not? Maybe because Taehyun broke my heart? Because I can’t even spend more than an hour around him before I’m this close to apologizing and begging for him to take me back even though it’s been two whole years and he’s with someone else now? Because I don’t even know if I want to get back together; I just want to stop feeling so empty all the time. Everything is different now: With you and Yeonjun together and us not. There’s no way we can go back.”

“You were the one that broke up with him, Beomgyu.”

“Oh, so you’re going to take his side on this?” Beomgyu knew he sounded irrational — maybe that was just an unfortunate side effect of bottling up his hurt so much for the past two years that now that it had found a slight crack in his defenses everything was pouring out as if from a pressurized can. 

“I’m not taking sides. I’ve never taken either of your sides,” Soobin’s voice was deceptively quiet. And if Beomgyu had retained even a tenth of his sanity he would know that he was treading on thin ice. “I was against the two of you breaking up from the beginning — I still don’t get it. What happened?”

That was the million dollar question. What the fuck had happened? Of course Beomgyu knew, of course, he hated it. Of course, it was all his fault, too.

Beomgyu had been so hyper-focused on Soobin that he hadn’t noticed Yeonjun appearing in the doorway of the bedroom. When the blue-haired boy cleared his throat though, it almost felt like an explosion, one that blew the bubble Beomgyu had trapped himself in wide open. Suddenly, he was far too aware of his balled fists and red face in the middle of Yeonjun’s living room. 

Yeonjun had a cold expression on his face, a look Beomgyu had never seen before in his eyes. It wasn’t just anger — that Beomgyu had seen plenty of times — no, it was also disappointment, and that look, Beomgyu didn’t care to become familiar with. 

“Get out,” Yeonjun said, short and sweet, before Beomgyu could say anything else. 

Opening his mouth as if to argue, Beomgyu quickly closed it upon seeing Yeonjun’s gaze. The older had walked over to rest his hand on the back of Soob— his boyfriend’s head, thumbing gently across his ear as if it was an unconscious habit. 

Beomgyu gritted his teeth. There wasn’t anything left for him to say if this was how it was going to be, so he followed Yeonjun’s directive: He got up and left.

──────

Beomgyu stared down at the seven digit number flashing on his screen. His heart had leaped at the thought that it might have been Yeonjun or Soobin — but they wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily.

The three of them had had plenty of fights before. That’s just what happened when you were friends for four-plus years. Most of the time it had been Beomgyu and Yeonjun — okay, ninety-five percent of the time it had been the two of them. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was apologizing to Soobin, knowing how forgiving he was, knowing how kind he was. Well, Beomgyu just couldn’t do it right now. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven right now.

And maybe he didn’t want to address any of what he’d said either. 

_Holy shit._ What if it was—

“Hello?” He answered, his hand gripping his phone a little too tightly because otherwise he feared he would drop it.

“Beomgyu-ssi?” 

“Yes, that’s me.”

“This is Soyoun, I’m the casting coordinator for—”

“— _I’ll Find You At Home In The Summer,_ ” They both said at the same time, his more of a gasp.

“Yes,” There was a tinge of amusement in Soyoun’s affirmation. “I’m calling because we’d like to offer you the role of Seokhwan.”

_Oh my god._

Shit, he’d said that out loud. “Yes! I accept!”

“Wonderful, we’ll send over the contract and our shooting dates. Please review it and send it back, signed, by the end of the week. Also, please note we have a few requests in regards to your appearance. Expenses will come out of our budget, but please confirm them carefully. Do you have any questions, Beomgyu-ssi?”

Perhaps it was because Beomgyu was still in a state of thrilled shock — it felt as if his whole body had gone numb and blood was currently in the midst of being recirculated to his extremities because everything tingled — clearly the blood had not reached his head because his already flimsy brain-to-mouth filter was gone: “Why did it take so long to hear back?”

There was a slight pause on the end of the line that had Beomgyu’s heart giving a heavy beat in his chest. Shit, they were going to fire him before he even got hired. But Soyoun’s voice filtered back through his phone speaker, “There were some other negotiations that needed to be worked out prior to our offer. Director Oh has been quite specific about the chemistry of the cast. She’s very much looking forward to working with you. Is there anything else?”

“Oh,” Beomgyu blew out a breath that he felt like he’d been holding in for weeks. “No, thank you. I’ll send it back by the end of this week.”

“Great; my contact information is in the packet. Please reach out if you have any other questions.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” Beomgyu barely gasped out before he was met with silence from the cut line. 

_Holy shit._

His hand was shaking as he lowered the phone, a gradual smile creeping on his face until his grin felt like it would overtake his eyes. He’d gotten the part. He’d gotten the part! 

Before Beomgyu knew it, he was in motion, hopping up and down in his kitchen, mouth open in a silent scream. He soon migrated into the living room, where a particularly strong swing of his arms sent his phone flying into the couch cushions, but he didn’t care. He was turning and jumping and kicking all of the frustration and doubt and fear of the past month out of his system right now. 

A muffled ring from his phone drew him out of his celebration and had him diving for the couch. As he tapped open the email with jittery fingers, Beomgyu was overcome with a hollow feeling, but it briefly passed as his email finished loading. Just as he was scanning the contents, that giddiness from before rising through him again, his screen darkened with a call.

“Insong! I got the part!”

“Yes, I just saw the email. I’m out for castings today, but I wanted to congratulate you first.”

A quick warmth spread in Beomgu’s chest as he sat knees and feet tucked up on the couch, a brilliant smile on his face for the first time in days. “Thank you.”

“Please read over the contract today. I’ll be able to talk again later tonight to discuss it. Did they call you?”

“Yes, the casting director from before called.”

“Great, what did she say?”

“Um,” Beomgyu scratched his head, too excitable to pin down specifics. “Ah! She said they wanted me to change my appearance?”

“Hmmm, we just got your comp card done, but I’ll take a look tonight.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’m seriously trying to be a model. It was just to hold me over until this part!”

“It’s always good to have options, Beomgyu-ssi. I have to go now, but, again, I’m happy for you. I’ll call you again tonight. Read the contract!”

The line cut out before Beomgyu could reply, but Insong’s message had been loud and clear. And he would read the contract … eventually. It wasn’t like he was going to turn it down either way. They could ask him to get a tattoo across his face and he would probably do it for how much he wanted this part. Feeling far too animated to sit and read some forty-page contract, Beomgyu quickly thumbed over to his messages and texted his friends.

As he fielded congratulatory messages from the group chat, he also quickly sent his parents a message, though he supposed they were both working at the moment. Feeling far too antsy and far too delighted to stay in his apartment, he was quickly talked into celebrating tonight. And there was only one proper way to do it: Karaoke.

 **Beomgyu:** I miss you  
Sent 12:46 A.M. 

Of course, they were supposed to keep it on the down low. Of course, no one was supposed to know about his casting until it was announced by the company or the studio or some exclusive in the news. But of course, that didn’t stop Beomgyu and his friends from yelling about it at the top of their lungs between bouts of karaoke that night.

At least the club music was — hopefully — loud enough to drown out their exclamations. Or maybe everyone else would — hopefully — be far too drunk to remember the “holy shit Beomgyu got cast in the biggest drama of the year!” exclamations that were a bit too frequent. 

Sangyoon was currently doing a terrible rendition of “Lean on Me” with the rest of them either howling expletives for him to hand the mic over or egging him on with exaggerated praise. Beomgyu laughed into a shriek as he leaned against his friend, feeling happy. God, he’d missed being happy. 

As part of the group that had been endlessly booing, Beomgyu got shepherded out of the karaoke room when Sangyoon started in on the second verse and into the loud drumming bass of the club. Buoyed by the momentum of his friends and his jubilant mood, he found himself leaning against the bar, a cool glass pressed against his palm, one in a line of too many to count. 

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Beomgyu felt so warm and optimistic tonight. Maybe if he took enough shots he’d be able to forget about his fight with Soobin, he’d be able to forget about the last two months of misery, he’d be able to forget all about Kang Taehyun like he’d been trying to do for the past two years. Maybe tonight would be the turning point. 

Hands were pulling him onto the dance floor, and obediently, Beomgyu followed, laughing at something Seungbin said but he could barely hear. This was where he thrived: center of attention, surrounded by friends, able to be as loud as he wanted. And as the night faded into oblivion Beomgyu didn’t even notice the vibration of his phone in his pocket.

 **Beomgyu:** I miss you  
Read 1:31 A.M.

──────

So it went like this: Insong was mad at him.

It probably didn’t help that Beomgyu had shown up at the company late this morning after promising his agent that he’d meet him today at 9 to go over the contract instead.

“You didn’t even look at it yet?” 

“I did, just maybe not thoroughly,” Beomgyu mumbled, hands fidgeting under the table. And he had; he’d scanned the document on his way here, but of course his 15 minute train ride was not enough to scour the entirety of the hefty file, but he had gotten the gist — kinda. Besides, he was going to sign the contract no matter what anyway, so did it really matter? 

Insong sighed, rubbing his eyes like it had already been a whole day when it wasn’t even 10 a.m. yet. “Okay, well, what do you think?”

“The money,” Beomgyu whistled. When he’d read the amount on the fifth page, he’d had to do a double take, then he closed the doc and reopened it again in case it was a glitch. Nope, the same amount of zeros had still been there. It was well above the compensation he’d gotten from the movie — but Beomgyu guessed this was the difference between being in the main cast and being an unnamed side character. Still, the difference between the haves and have nots had never been more clear.

Insong nodded, “It’s a good offer, but the schedule is … rigorous. They have you filming on location for about two months, and they’ve blocked off most weekends for you to be on call.”

“That’s okay— actually, that’s good. It’ll be nice to actually feel busy with work for a change.” 

Insong frowned, but still nodded, “Okay, I understand. And about the hair and piercing requirements, you’re comfortable with them?”

“Yeah it’s fine, I can just get my comp card redone whenever I need work again, right? Like you said, the shoot is going to take up a lot of my time, so it’s not like I’ll be able to do anything else.”

“I would recommend against the piercing, but it’s up to you. It’s a good opportunity, Beomgyu-ssi, just make sure to read everything thoroughly. And I hope you’ll work hard.” Insong gave him an affectionate smile. 

Beomgyu nodded eagerly, his leg bouncing up and down under the table. It was a wonder he still had so much energy this morning after getting barely three hours of sleep last night. However the exhilaration from getting The Part probably had something to do with it. “Thank you, I will.”

He left the company in high spirits after promising to forward his signed copy to Insong. The sky was slightly overcast, which also gave Beomgyu hope for a good night’s sleep to the pattering of rain tonight. Things were really, really looking up.

A vibration in his pocket reminded Beomgyu that his phone had been blowing up all morning. Late last night, or more accurately, earlier today, a gossip column had published a piece on actors reportedly in talks for Oh Hyerim’s new primetime drama. Beomgyu had been on there along with Lee Joonghwa, who had starred in another Hyerim drama last year as the second lead. 

Beomgyu had always been hesitant to believe in gossip columns — warned early on from his time in the industry about the power they could hold on budding actors and actresses — but they had somehow gotten the information about him right, so what if the rest of it was, too? Beomgyu felt giddy at the thought of possibly working with Joonghwa.

After the news was out, other outlets had quickly picked up the report and by the time Beomgyu woke up his inbox and texts were flooded. He’d replied to his parents’ first, of course, but then it was a crapshoot for who he got to next — just whoever showed up latest in his call log or texts. Suddenly, friends and acquaintances he’d made on previous projects were messaging him though their last communication dated more than five months ago. Whatever, he would probably do the same, too. Besides, it felt nice to be praised.

He had briefly wondered if Yeonjun and Soobin would have heard about the news, or would have even tried to contact him if they did. They probably didn’t though, he thought, they didn’t keep up with this sort of stuff. And he’d rather not search for a text from them just to be disappointed. 

Deciding to pick up lunch before going home to maybe actually read his contract — but probably not — Beomgyu swung into the nearby convenience store. As he was opening the cooler to grab a bottle of barley tea, a voice behind him called out, “Beomgyu-ssi?”

Not recognizing the voice at all, Beomgyu tensed. Maybe some drama fan who had seen the news this morning had spotted him? He usually wasn’t recognized at all though — why would he be? 

Turning around slowly while gripping his drink, Beomgyu froze as he made eye contact with the person who had called out to him. He looked familiar, but it took a moment before Beomgyu recognized him. And then the world devolved into white noise.

“Hueningkai?”

“Hi, hyung! Can I call you hyung?” Hueningkai giggled, either oblivious or choosing to ignore Beomgyu’s slack-jawed look of bewilderment and dread.

 _No, you cannot call me hyung, what the fuck?_ “Sure.” It came out as barely a breath.

“I saw you over here and realized I never got the chance to tell you, but your movie was really good! It was so exciting, and that fight scene by the pier was amazing. How long did it take you to learn?”

The stream of Hueningkai’s excited babbling threatened to draw Beomgyu into its current. Hueningkai was bright, cheerful, he could see why Taehyun would like him. Beomgyu had been like that once — maybe he still seemed that way, but standing three feet apart from Hueningkai, he couldn’t help but notice all the ways he’d changed. Of course Taehyun wouldn’t like him anymore. 

His conversation with Soobin weeks ago now came back to him then: _“What if we’ve already fallen out of love and just don’t know it yet?”_ Was that what had happened two years ago? Had he already started changing and Kang Taehyun had fallen out of love with him and he was just too stupid, too enamored by the other to notice?

The gentle whirr of the wall of coolers behind Beomgyu brought him back to the store, where Hueningkai was still looking at him wide-eyed and eager despite the fact that he probably had let the silence linger between them for far too long. “Uh, they gave us about a week of training in between shooting other things.”

“Wow,” Hueningkai smiled, and if Beomgyu couldn’t practically feel the amazement exuding out him, he would have thought Hueningkai was mocking him. “That’s so cool. Beomgyu-hyung, you’re so cool!”

Slightly taken aback, Beomgyu gave Hueningkai a sheepish smile. “No, not at all.” And despite all his bravado in joking with his friends about being a star, and despite maybe, possibly, _actually_ being on the cusp of fame for once, Beomgyu meant what he said. “Thanks though, for liking the movie.”

Hueningkai nodded easily. “I’m not just saying it because, you know, Taehyun knows you or anything— or, I guess, I know you now, too! But you were also incredible! I’m studying to become a writer, actually, I don’t know if Taehyun mentioned it, but—”

Ah— so that’s what he wanted, Beomgyu thought, even as the other boy continued on. Beomgyu had been on both ends of conversations like this before; civility and friendliness for the sake of personal gain was nothing new to him. It was probably how he’d met half of the friends he went out with last night. Hand off a name card, put in a good word, keep me in mind for— all of these were familiar phrases that he now waited to hear from Hueningkai. 

“—And the part when the gang discovered the documents and the boss’ deception was so well done. I thought you were the best in that scene, hyung. Taehyun had said something weird like it didn’t feel like he was seeing the real you on screen, and I think that made him sad? Oh—” Hueningkai cut himself off, and momentarily Beomgyu wondered if he realized how long he’d been talking, but instead he just gave Beomgyu a cheeky wink, and continued. “Forget you heard that, okay? Anyway, you were incredible! I had to do something for film class this weekend, or else I would have joined you guys for dinner. But I hope you’ll invite me next time, too!”

This was not quite the invite Beomgyu had thought Hueningkai had been angling for, but somewhere after Taehyun’s name had been mentioned the white noise had returned to Beomgyu’s brain, so all he could do was put on his best fake smile — the kind used to charm producers and his own mother — and nod. 

Hueningkai clasped his hands together as he beamed. “That’s great, I’m so happy I saw you today! I’ll let you get back to your thing— oh, could we exchange numbers?” 

Internally, Beomgyu recoiled. Wasn’t that kind of taking it too far? It was one thing to chat idly in a convenience store if you happened to run into them, or even bring up maybe hanging out next time as a vague sort of promise, but exchanging numbers with his ex’s new boyfriend? Beomgyu wasn’t sure if he could do that. “Uh—” 

For the first time in their conversation, Hueningkai seemed to falter, quickly shaking his head. “Oh, it’s okay, you don’t have to! You probably don’t just give out your number anyway—”

“No, it’s fine, sorry. Here,” Beomgyu said roughly, hanging over his unlocked phone for Hueningkai to put in his number. Which probably wasn’t the best idea because the flood of texts had not stopped, so his notifications kept interrupting every third tap. He winced, hoping Hueningkai didn’t decide to comment on them. Maybe as a testament to the younger’s character though, Hueningkai didn’t even glance up as each notification popped up on top, dutifully entering his name and number before handing back Beomgyu’s phone. 

“Thanks, hyung, I called myself so I would have yours, too! Hopefully, I’ll see you soon!” Hueingkai gave a — admittedly adorable — hop and small wave before turning to the cashier to check out his purchases. 

Beomgyu quickly turned back to the cooler and yanked open the door, allowing the cold air to wash over him for a moment until he heard the telltale whoosh of the automatic doors sliding open signalling Hueningkai’s departure. Beomgyu didn’t know why he decided to give him his number — maybe because Hueningkai had been nothing but nice to him when he could have easily been jealous or backhanded. And maybe because for all his sadness and envy and resentment, Beomgyu hadn't changed all that much.

──────

He had been right; it was raining tonight. Listening to the faint sounds of each drop on his window pane, Beomgyu stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The steam around the edges made his normally sharp features softer. His hand reached up to tug at his newly dyed hair — it had been over a year since he’d had black hair and he couldn’t help but feel it was bittersweet. It was like being suddenly confronted by a younger Beomgyu, but without the chance of being able to do anything over.

Leaning into the mirror, Beomgyu spotted the small stud that now rested on the right side of his nose. He’d gotten piercings before in his ears — multiple actually, but this one had hurt a lot more than even when he’d gotten his cartilage pierced. Wrinkling his nose, Beomgyu winced at the throbbing pain. The area was slightly red despite his best efforts to wash around it in the shower. Watching his reflection, he raised his hand and pressed a finger directly on the metal, pushing in. He hissed at the pain and left the bathroom.

Flinging himself unceremoniously onto his bed, he palmed near his pillow for his phone again. The studio said they would send the full script and detailed schedule tonight, which means Beomgyu was once again hanging by every beep of his phone. The deluge of messages had somewhat slowed down, though he knew it would only be a brief respite before the final cast was officially announced ahead of their reading next week. Beomgyu took in a deep breath, feeling excitement bubble through him again. Wow— this was _real._

Beomgyu sat in the middle of his bed listening to the gentle lull of the rain as he thumbed through his messages, scanning the names to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anyone important. He should probably sleep and just get up early tomorrow to start reading his lines, but the— his thumb hovered over a name he never thought would be in his message list again.

Taehyun.

What the fuck?

Things only got worse as he flicked his gaze down to the message. His. _I miss you._

Beomgyu’s hand shook as he stared at his screen, feeling his entire heart plummet. What the hell? When had he sent this? 

The small “Yesterday” in the corner of the preview haunted him. When he was drunk? He was never drinking ever again and if he did, he would make someone hold him at knifepoint to delete Taehyun’s number from his phone before then. 

Fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, even as he breathed in and out in little gasps, Beomgyu quickly opened up their log. Read. Fucking read. Taehyun had left him on read after he sent a pathetic text two years after having broken up. But then again, what else was Taehyun supposed to do — say he missed him, too? As if.

Beomgyu dropped his phone like it was going to burn him. But then immediately picked it up. 

A miserable chant of _no, no, no,_ alternated with _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ as he quickly scrolled up and down their chat, as if a reply from Taehyun would magically manifest. Beomgyu could feel his face heat up and he didn’t know he was about to cry or throw up or probably both simultaneously. Taking a shaky breath he tapped the message bar, but felt nerves overwhelm him to the point he panicked and closed the message app entirely. 

How could he possibly recover from this? 

He wished he could talk to Soobin. Hell, he wouldn’t even mind talking to Yeonjun about it at this point. He tried to take deep breaths to calm down but his fifth one ended in an anguished gasp. 

The best thing to do now would be to delete the message, forget it ever happened, and go to sleep. But despite his best judgement, Beomgyu tapped the message app icon again, his grip on his phone tight. As he scrolled through his list of messages, he fruitlessly hoped that the text had been a hallucination, that the chat wouldn’t be there, that his embarrassing message wouldn’t be the last thing sent— 

He stared at those three words. 

Ignore it, a part of him whispered. Talk to him, the other part egged him on. Beomgyu knew what he wanted to do — but he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to have his heart shattered completely once more after he had painstakingly pieced it together bit and bit — a mockery of its former self but whole and beating just the same. It was the best he could do. 

He was so stupid. He should have deleted Taehyun’s number years ago. But it had always seemed too final — once it was gone Taehyun would be gone from his life forever. And there had always been a dangerous, infinite sense of emptiness at that thought. It scared him. He didn’t want to exist in a world where Taehyun wasn’t anything to him — not even a number on a phone.

Who knew how long Beomgyu sat there, staring at his message, soaked in heartache and self-hatred, before three dots appeared in the chat. The sudden appearance of the bubble caused Beomgyu’s heart to stop. Taehyun was typing. Taehyun was _typing._ And Beomgyu had never felt fear quite like this before. 

A sense of fight or flight suddenly jolted him into motion. He couldn’t stand to see Taehyun turn him down, even if it was kindly. Beomgyu’s fingers trembled as he typed.

 **Beomgyu:** shit  
**Beomgyu:** sorry this wasn’t for you  
**Beomgyu:** Imeant to text Soobin we got in a fight  
**Beomgyu:** I’ll delete your numer sorry 

The bubble opposite his texts disappeared as soon as he sent the first message, and Beomgyu breathed out a sigh of relief that felt more like a sob. His entire body was shaking, whether from adrenaline or because the tears were coming in earnest now, Beomgyu couldn’t tell. 

Just as his vision blurred and his hastily written messages grew fuzzy, the phone in his hand vibrated: Taehyun was calling. And that made Beomgyu cry even harder, because just like he didn’t want to live in a world where he wasn’t still connected to Taehyun in some way, he knew there would never be an instance when Kang Taehyun called that he didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i know the cliffhanger i’m sorry!!! this chapter deviated a lot from my original plans, but i hope it’s starting to put the pieces together and showing the little habits of both beomgyu and taehyun — good and bad :(
> 
> thank you, as always, for reading and especially for sticking with this roller coaster of a chapter. i finally [tweeted about this au](https://twitter.com/suwubins/status/1280882594440196096), so if you enjoy it, a like would be greatly appreciated <3 see you in the next one!


	3. III.

The line was silent for what felt like too long.

Beomgyu hastily wiped his cheeks, though the logical part of his brain that hadn’t been completely overtaken by a decaying hope knew Taehyun couldn’t really see him. He tried to calm his breathing so it wouldn’t sound like he had just burst into tears — which, you know, he had.

“Hi, Beomgyu.” Taehyun’s unfiltered voice, the first time Beomgyu had heard it like this — so close, right in his ear — in so long.

He whispered, “Hi.”

A pause lingered, a tentative, fragile bond that connected the two after all these years. Beomgyu sat on the line, holding his breath, ears strained for any noise on Taehyun’s end. He thought he heard soft, slow breathing, and worked to match his own to it. It was silly, but even sitting in silence, just knowing Taehyun was here with him — at least in some way — appeased the insistent yearning in Beomgyu’s heart.

It was just the two of them breathing in tandem for what felt like hours, but was most likely not even a minute. Beomgyu wondered what Taehyun was doing now. If he was tucked in bed with the covers up to his chin like he liked to have them when they were in high school, if he was sitting on the couch with a pillow clutched tightly to his chest, or if, maybe, he was out — with Hueningkai — detoured to a deserted side street to have some privacy so he could quickly dismiss Beomgyu before getting back to his life.

Beomgyu grimaced, opening his mouth to say what, he didn’t know. Maybe “why did you call?”, maybe another “I miss you” because the damage had been done anyway.

“Did you mean it?” Taehyun was the one who broke the silence, his voice small and breathless. Back when they had been together, a lot of people had assumed Beomgyu was the younger one because he spoke with a cute accent, but sometimes, when it was just the two of them, Taehyun’s voice would become breathy and light, giggly and teasing, a voice fitting for someone, Beomgyu thought, adorable as he was. This wasn’t exactly that, but it was close enough to make Beomgyu’s lip tremble.

“I was, um, really drunk that night,” Beomgyu bit his lip, gnawing on the fleshy part in the middle — a bad habit he’d thought he’d gotten rid of years ago. Taehyun’s question still hung in the air, “But yeah … I meant it.”

Beomgyu heard a sharp inhale of breath on the other end before, a probing, cautious: “So you weren’t sending it to Soobin?”

“No, I- no, it wasn’t for Soobin, but I shouldn’t have sent it.”

“Why not?”

He gritted his teeth. “Because … it doesn’t matter.” And despite whatever else either of them said, that was the crux of it. Despite his intentions — however haphazard they may have been when drunk — when he sent the text, and despite Taehyun’s reasons for calling, none of this mattered. They would eventually hang up, in a few minutes or hours, and Beomgyu would be alone — again. He rubbed his chest and willed his heart to stay strong.

“I think it matters.” And when Beomgyu stayed silent, a prompt, a plea: “Hyung.”

And Beomgyu crumbled.

One thing that Beomgyu had learned about Taehyun early on in their friendship was that getting the younger to open up was like pulling teeth — and that, still, was an understatement. At first, Beomgyu hadn’t even noticed that his questions were being sidestepped. Taehyun would give a half, non-answer and deftly divert the conversation — which Beomgyu had been far too happy to oblige. However, Beomgyu slowly began to realize that he didn’t even know where the younger had grown up, anything about his family — not even if he had siblings.

“Yah, Taehyun-ah, who are you?” Beomgyu had asked once, during one of their walks home. He knew his question sounded silly, but it was genuine — borne out of a frustration and desire to know more about the younger that he didn’t know how to express. Avoiding his eyes, Beomgyu stared at an idle beetle crawling on the sidewalk next to them.

Perhaps Taehyun had heard something in his voice that day, because despite the fact that he could have easily deflected, he didn’t. “Well, what do you want to know, hyung?”

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu huffed. “Do you have any siblings? What do you parents do?” Those were the basics weren’t they? Things that people should know about their friends? Beomgyu didn’t want to pry, but these sorts of things, they were ones that could come up in casual conversation, right?

Taehyun hummed, kicking a loose shingle as they waited for the crosswalk. “I have an older brother — he’s a lot older than me, by eight years. He’s going to school in Daejeon. My mom is a teacher.”

“Oh wow, really?”

“Yeah, she teaches elementary school.” A smile played at the edges of Taehyun’s lips. “I was weirdly jealous when I was young, because I thought she would like her students more than me.”

Beomgyu nudged Taehyun’s shoulder as they crossed, “What? You were a trouble kid?” That was hard for Beomgyu to picture now. Student council member Taehyun, top-of-the-class Taehyun being anything but a model child.

“Oh no, I was perfect,” Taehyun said, his grin smug now.

Beomgyu snorted, “Really? You never got in fights on the playground? Steal candy with your friends? Bring home a stray frog that you hid in your room for two weeks?”

“That last one sounds a bit too specific.”

“Answer the question, Kang Taehyun.”

“No frogs in my very immaculate, wholesome past, thank you very much.”

“Boring!” Beomgyu exclaimed, hopping down the stairs into a park that they crossed as a shortcut.

“I did go get my ears pierced.”

“No way.”

“Yeah,” Taehyun said, pulling on his earlobe so Beomgyu could see the small hole. Beomgyu had noticed them before — had always found them intriguing, something else that hinted that Taehyun wasn’t who he seemed to be. Boys weren’t allowed to wear ear jewelry at school, but for the holes to still be there, that probably meant Taehyun wore them outside of school, though Beomgyu hadn’t seen him with them in the few times they’d hung out — despite how he wanted to.

“My brother had just gotten them and I begged him to let me get mine, too, even though I was probably too young back then. Maybe because of that, he took me without telling our mom. Naturally she was pissed when she found out — probably more so at my brother,” Taehyun snickered. “But the damage had already been done.”

“Cute,” Beomgyu grinned, happy that he now had a little tidbit of Taehyun — a clingy, younger version of him — all to himself. “See, that wasn’t so bad, right?”

Taehyun glanced at Beomgyu, eyes brighter than the setting sun shining directly behind him. “Yeah, I guess not.”

If Beomgyu had thought that one conversation would somehow open the floodgates, well, they didn’t. It would take many more months, far more years for Beomgyu to get the whole picture of Taehyun. Half from little habits and behaviors that Taehyun would show, half from Taehyun finally, finally, opening up in moments when they were hidden under a blanket fort in Beomgyu’s living room, the rest of his family asleep upstairs, or sitting in an empty classroom during lunch break, or in the back of the arcade between bouts of — badly played — DDR.

Every piece of Taehyun that he was given, Beomgyu treasured and kept close to his heart. Maybe that’s why it had been so hard to piece it together after their breakup — because he was trying to fill gaps that only Taehyun could fit into.

Yet perhaps the most important thing that Beomgyu had learned — the most heartbreaking and most cherished part of Taehyun Beomgyu knew — was that at the core of it, Taehyun didn’t trust easily. It wasn’t about power or superiority, it was about fear. If Taehyun could read those around him well, if he never made himself vulnerable in return, he would never be blindsided or hurt. Perhaps the only thing that had ever caught him off-guard was— Beomgyu grimaced.

Which was why Beomgyu wouldn’t let Taehyun beg for anything between them. If he wanted to know why, if he wanted Beomgyu to lay out his messy emotions and lingering scars now, fine, Beomgyu would bare his soul — only ever for him.

“I tried really hard to forget about you.” Beomgyu started, almost a whisper — he was scared. It was as if he was walking in the dark, blind to his surroundings, trusting that whatever was out there wouldn’t hurt him. “And I think it worked for awhile. But seeing you again, god,” Beomgyu inhaled shakily. “I don’t know. I think it just brought everything back.”

 _“You were the one that broke up with him.”_ Beomgyu winced, Soobin’s words returning to haunt him at the worst moment.

“I think some part of me always missed you,” He laughed dryly, whether at how cheesy that sounded or at his own embarrassment — take your pick. “You used to feel like home. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget that.”

The silence that followed felt like he was standing on the edge of an abyss, and maybe if Beomgyu kept talking, he could delay his inevitable, doomed fall. “But I— I know you’re with Hueningkai now, so it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for saying all of this; I shouldn’t have texted. I wouldn’t have if I wasn’t drunk, I think.”

Beomgyu had half a mind to hang up now, to save himself from the rejection that was coming, from the residual shame of admitting his regrets and weaknesses. But as if Taehyun could tell what he was thinking, there was barely a pause this time after Beomgyu spoke.

“Beomgyu,” His name sounded like it had been punched from Taehyun’s chest. “I— I never say the right things but— _please_ —”

There — the first hairline crack along the edges of his heart.

He knew what Taehyun was asking for, he knew what Taehyun meant immediately, because for how readable Beomgyu was and how easily Taehyun could guess his thoughts, the three years they’d been together hadn’t been for nothing. Beomgyu understood Taehyun, too, better than most, he hoped, sometimes better than Taehyun himself, he knew. And for all his wishful thinking of shedding his old self, two years was not nearly enough time to erase a person, let alone two.

“I have never met anyone as self-destructive as you.”

Ah.

Maybe he should have hung up when he had the chance.

Beomgyu hadn’t even realized he was smiling until he tasted the salty tang of his own tears. Even as painful as this was, it was also bittersweet, because only Taehyun would ever say something like this; only Beomgyu would understand what he really meant.

“It’s okay, Taehyun-ah. You’re right I—”

“Wait, hyung, can we meet?”

This time Beomgyu actually did drop his phone. Feeling the hard edge of it hit his crossed legs, Beomgyu didn’t even register the pain against his shin, even though it would most likely bruise tomorrow. Hastily, with shaking hands, he picked up his phone. By the time he pressed it to his ear again, he still didn’t know what his answer would be.

Did he want to see Taehyun? Was it really just a few weeks ago that he’d been desperately trying to put Taehyun behind him? How foolish that seemed now when faced with the magnitude of his own denial. Hoping to buy himself more time to sort out his jumbled thoughts, Beomgyu asked, “Why?”

“I don’t want it to be over the phone when we talk about this.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m free tomorrow; I’ll just be at home.”

He’d almost forgotten: The part, the drama.

“No, I mean now, can we meet now?”

Beomgyu froze.

He knew the silence had gone on for too long this time, because a faint shuffling on Taehyun’s end made him snap back into the conversation. But before he could formulate an answer from his chaotic thoughts — yes of course I want to meet, no I’m scared that I’ll break down right now, yes I want to see you, too, no I’m not ready for this to end — Taehyun spoke again, “We don’t have to — I know it’s late. Sorry, we can meet tomorrow, if you’re free.”

Part of Beomgyu was thankful that Taehyun had given him an out, part of him felt dull disappointment. “Okay, tomorrow,” He breathed out. “Do you want to, um, come over?”

Beomgyu knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to have Taehyun come to his home — but that was what Beomgyu had always been like: giving, open, and so, so quick to let Taehyun in. Besides, he would probably cry, and he didn’t want to do that in public.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“What—”

“Oh, what time?” They both asked. He heard Taehyun’s small chuckle on the other end and felt warm despite the dampness that remained on his cheeks.

“Um, maybe tomorrow night?” That would give him all day to prepare; he wasn’t sure he could face Kang Taehyun first thing in the morning. Not after this.

“Okay.”

“Okay, I’ll text you.” How strange that sounded.

“Okay.”

It was Taehyun. And despite the lingering pain and everything between them that was unsaid, Beomgyu suddenly didn’t want to hang up. “Thanks, um, for waiting. Sorry I can’t do it tonight.”

“That’s okay, I shouldn’t have pushed. I’ll always wait for you, hyung.”

And after a pause where Beomgyu felt the small fissures in his heart break open, he heard Taehyun’s soft “good night.”

──────

Pro: He wasn’t seeing Taehyun until tonight.  
Con: He had to think about seeing Taehyun for the whole day.  
Pro: He had his new script to distract him.  
Con: It had taken him nearly two and a half hours to read through the pilot.

It was everything Beomgyu had hoped for and more. From the parts of the script that he had read for the audition, he knew this drama was going to be compelling, but seeing the full thing in front of him — it was of a whole other caliber. Director Oh Hyerim was a genius.

After tossing and turning for what felt like — and probably was — hours last night, Beomgyu finally fell into a hazy sort of half-state where he was barely on the cusp of sleep. He’d woken up this morning with fresh eyebags and a shiny, new script for him to read that he’d thrown himself into so he wouldn’t have to think about meeting Taehyun tonight.

Beomgyu knew their conversation was overdue — by about two years. He knew it had been his fault that neither of them had gotten this sort of closure back then; he’d been so determined to get as far away from the old him as he could — to put distance between the Beomgyu he needed to be and the Beomgyu who was with Taehyun. He had always told himself: It wasn’t a fight. We just grew apart; there’s nothing to talk about anyway.

Wincing, Beomgyu finished pouring his fourth cup of coffee, carrying it back into the living room where he had copies of the script printed out and highlighted. Before he could pick up where he had left off, he heard the tell-tale ring of his phone.

Heart leaping, he thought for a wild second that it could be Taehyun, but of course not. Beomgyu frowned; it was an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Beomgyu-ssi?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“This is Wonjun, the production coordinator for _‘Summer.’_ We met when you came in for your callback.”

“Oh yes, hi,” Beomgyu said, remembering the slightly short, pudgy man with the choppy bangs. “What did you need?”

“I’m calling to invite you to a small, private dinner that Director Oh is holding for the cast this Sunday.”

“Isn’t the read through on Wednesday?” Beomgyu bit his lip — afraid that he had come off as rude. He was excited about the invitation, of course, especially after reading the script, he was really eager to meet the director outside of the brief interactions they’d had during his auditions. It just seemed unusual for the whole cast to get together ahead of their official schedule. The metaphorical ink on his contract had barely dried.

“Yes, but Director Oh always does this whenever she has a new drama, new cast. It’s better for on screen chemistry to get to know one another in a more relaxed setting — to break the ice.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, that makes sense. I would love to come.”

“Great, I’ll send you the details. Feel free to bring someone, if that would make you more comfortable. The dinner will be fairly casual.”

Beomgyu smiled easily, “Okay great. I’m looking forward to it, wow.”

“I’ll see you Sunday then, Beomgyu-ssi; have a good rest of your week.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Beomgyu leaned against the lumpy cushions of his couch, a silly grin on his face as he turned his phone over in his palm. Each day his new reality settled over him a little bit more, the feeling of looking forward to something was unfamiliar but so welcome. Feeling brief butterflies in his stomach, Beomgyu picked up his script, trying to push Taehyun out of his thoughts — something he’d, thankfully, become adept at for the past two years.

──────

“Hi.”

Taehyun was standing outside his apartment, hair in his eyes, hoodie, track pants, sneakers on like this was casual, like this was any other Friday night and they were just friends who were going to hang out.

Oh god, Beomgyu couldn’t do this.

“Hey.”

He caught Taehyun’s eyes flicking up towards his hair and Beomgyu reached up absentmindedly — he’d forgotten that he dyed it, that this would be Taehyun’s first time seeing it, that he now looked exactly like the Beomgyu that Taehyun had fallen in — and out — of love with.

Taehyun’s eyes were far too soft when he lowered his gaze, “It’s good to see you again.”

Oh god, Beomgyu really, really could not do this.

“Um, come in,” Beomgyu feigned a chipper tone and bright smile that he couldn’t really feel on his face; he led the way into his apartment, asking all the proper host things like if Taehyun wanted something to drink, before settling on his couch with respectable distance between them.

What was the proper protocol for ‘ex I’ve been avoiding for years and regret leaving is coming over to my apartment so we can have our breakup talk except it’s two years later and I am still very much in love with him?’ Yeah, Naver hadn’t been much help when he’d searched it up two hours ago either.

And now, uncomfortable and jittery, Beomgyu sat two feet away from Taehyun, who was looking at him with wide eyes and a neutral face, as if waiting for something. Did he expect Beomgyu to start? What more was there to say after everything he’d admitted last night?

“I’m not dating Hueningkai.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu so eloquently responded.

“I should have told you last night, I’m sorry. I guess it might have seemed that way at the theater, but we’re not together.” The first indication of Taehyun’s nerves manifested as he lightly scratched at his forearm. Beomgyu wanted to reach out to stop him.

“And I know you said a lot yesterday, so, please, I want to speak now,” Taehyun paused, as if waiting for a response, or gauging his.

“Okay,” Beomgyu croaked, not liking how feeble he sounded; he didn’t trust himself to meet ther other's eyes, even knowing Taehyun hated that.

There was a long stretch of silence before Taehyun spoke. “When we broke up … it was hard for me, at first; I didn’t understand where it had come from. I think over time, it got a bit easier, but sometimes little things will remind me of you, and I’ll be upset again.”

Beomgyu heard Taehyun taking a breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to forget about you either. I didn’t know you felt that way, too, or maybe— maybe I would have reached out sooner. But we barely saw each other after we broke up, and I was mad at first and you were probably avoiding me. By the time I got over things, we had graduated and it felt like it was … too late? But I always thought it was what you wanted; I just wanted you to be happy.”

Beomgyu could feel a traitorous, stray hope blooming in his chest — but on the heels of that was a profound doubt that warned him there would be no coming back if he was broken once more. Yet still, this was Taehyun: the angel he’d always thought hung the moon and stars. “You didn’t think I was happy with you?”

“I wanted you to be. I wanted you to be happy with me, so bad. But even before you ended things, those last few months, no matter how hard I tried I felt like I couldn’t get through to you. I didn’t know what to do— so I just let you do what you wanted.”

“But I didn’t want to break up.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu shook his head slowly, still staring at Taehyun’s hoodie collar because he was too much of a coward to overcome that eight inch gap between their gazes. “Because I was scared, because I was graduating with no plan and you and everyone else were going off to college. I was really … unsure of everything back then, and I just felt so out of control.”

“You could have talked to me.”

“I didn’t know what to say, Taehyun. Sometimes, I just— I couldn’t even pin down my emotions half the time, and the other half I was just scared. And I didn’t want things to change between us, to— to become horrible or ugly because of me, so I thought maybe it would be for the best if I ended it.”

“So you broke up with me ... because you didn’t want things to change?” Taehyun’s voice was unreadable.

“You were right,” Beomgyu whispered, his voice thick. “I am self destructive.”

“You ran away.”

Beomgyu almost wished that it had sounded like an accusation. He would have taken Taehyun’s ire and anger over his hurt any day.

“You gave up and decided that we weren’t worth the effort.”

“No,” Beomgyu gasped, finally glancing up at Taehyun, taken aback when he saw tears. How long had Taehyun been crying? How long had he been waiting for Beomgyu to look up? Without thinking about it, Beomgyu reached out, gently wiping at the tears on Taehyun’s cheek.

“No— I was just terrified of ruining things. It felt like we were growing apart; we were both doing different things and suddenly, I couldn’t be with you like that anymore. And it made me realize that we were moving on. What would I do if I couldn’t see you every day at school? What would I do if one day became several days and then a week, and— I felt like I had already lost you.”

“You’re so stupid,” Taehyun said, before his face crumpled and a fresh wave of tears appeared, before his shoulders bowed forward and naturally Beomgyu moved to catch him. “You’re so fucking stupid, hyung.”

Every time Beomgyu had allowed himself to imagine holding Taehyun again, he had never wanted it to be like this, with his tears soaking through Beomgyu’s sleeve and the feel of his shaking back under his palm. He instinctively wrapped his other arm around Taehyun and pulled him close. It was warm.

The second time Beomgyu had seen Taehyun cry had been their breakup.

The sun had been bright, hardly a cloud in the sky, so they’d decided to skip the train and walk to a further bus stop after leaving Soobin’s apartment that day. The silence was heavy, the way it had been recently, restless and stifling. Taehyun was on his phone, texting someone, and Beomgyu kicked a pebble for about three steps before growing bored. The scenery was beautiful, but it had felt so cold that day.

“Hey, Taehyun-ah, when you asked Soobin about his rent— are you moving out?” Beomgyu asked, his shoulder shrugging as if to indicate that it hadn’t really mattered, that it was just casual conversation. That was who he was: bright, easy-going, happy. That was the Beomgyu everyone liked.

“Yeah, the commute from home really isn’t worth it for my schedule,” Taehyun said, eyes staring straight ahead at the sidewalk before them. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get in the dorms since I applied late, so if not, I’ll probably look for a place.”

Beomgyu hummed, nodding his head, even as it started to fill with doubt and dread. He’d asked Taehyun to move in with him after graduating, maybe about three months ago. “That way we can still see each other every day,” Beomgyu had said, excited and sure this was the answer to the budding worries that had clawed their way into his mind. Taehyun had said no. He wanted to stay at home — it would save money.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Taehyun tilted his head, large, bright doe-eyes landing on Beomgyu for maybe the first time since they’d left the apartment. “I just decided recently, that’s why my dorm apps were late.”

“Okay,” Beomgyu said, even though he felt anything but. Why did you wait until it was too late to tell me then, he wanted to ask. He was a coward. “You’re going to look for a place close to school?”

“Of course,” Taehyun hummed. “Hopefully near the station, too, and then we can visit each other easily.”

It felt like a consolation prize. The bright grin Beomgyu returned didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s not too far from the company.”

Beomgyu had briefly considered getting an apartment close to Taehyun’s university anyway, just so it would be easier for his boyfriend to come visit in between classes or something, but his pride hadn’t allowed him to do that once Taehyun had turned him down. His company was at least thirty minutes away from campus.

“How is it going, by the way? The acting stuff?” Taehyun asked.

Strange. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. “Good, my agent seems nice at least. I haven’t really met anyone else yet.” It had never been hard for Beomgyu to make new friends — or so he’d thought. But he’d had the same friends, same peers, for over four years now. Maybe he’d gotten rusty, maybe he wasn’t really trying.

“Don’t worry,” Taehyun said, reaching out to grasp Beomgyu’s hand, their hands slightly sticky from the humid weather. “You’ve never met anyone that you couldn’t make fall in love with you.”

Beomgyu winced, his grip loosening in Taehyun’s hold, but Taehyun didn’t let him go until they reached the bus stop.

The steady rumble of cars passing by them seemed to fill the void that their conversation couldn’t as they sat in silence. Beomgyu clasped his hands clumsily together so Taehyun wouldn’t try holding them again. He felt a weight land on his knee. “Don’t shake your legs,” Taehyun reminded him gently, almost absentmindedly — he was looking at his phone again.

While Taehyun was distracted, Beomgyu glanced over, studying his boyfriend. Taehyun’s hair had gotten long, it now almost touched the collar of his uniform. He would need to get it cut soon or the school monitor’s wouldn’t be happy.

Beomgyu couldn’t see them now, but he knew small wrinkles would appear at the corner of Taehyun’s eyes when he smiled. They were a sign of a “life lived happily” he’d once told Taehyun, who had confided in him that he was insecure about them.

He stared at Taehyun like he was trying to memorize him, even though he already did, long ago, somewhere between going to that boba place every day after school until Beomgyu got sick, dates to the skating rink even though Beomgyu didn’t know how to skate, and that trip to the amusement park and Taehyun clutched his hand on ever ride even though he insisted he wasn’t scared; Beomgyu had memorized everything about Taehyun, from his expressionless gazes that hid far more than he let on to the dazzling moments when he smiled and the world stopped just for a second. He didn’t want to lose that.

God, was he really going to do this?

“Taehyun-ah,” It was too soft; Taehyun hadn’t heard. And Beomgyu almost nearly left it like that. Maybe it was a sign that he shouldn’t do this after all. But then he saw their bus at the far red light, and as if it was a ticking time bomb, Beomgyu turned to Taehyun more urgently this time. “Taehyun-ah, let’s break up.”

Taehyun glanced up, a slight frown on his face, the hand that was holding his phone falling to his lap. “What?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu breathed, willing his hands to stop shaking, digging his nails into his palm so they would. He couldn’t repeat it again. “I think it’s about time, right?”

“What do you mean, it’s about time?” Taehyun asked, his voice unwavering though his eyes were troubled and confused and hurt.

“I just mean I want to. I don’t think it’s going to work. We haven’t— it’s been different between us for a while, and I just think we should stop pretending.” Beomgyu could feel a heavy pressure behind his eyes. Was he sad? No, he was mostly just numb right now — as if he was watching a stranger ruin his life. Why was he crying?

“You’re really ending things, because we’ve both been busy?” Taehyun sounded disbelieving, bitter. Good.

“Yeah, and it’s not the same for me anymore. I think we’re just growing apart, you know, which is fine, it’s normal. So we can just end it here — no hard feelings.”

“Do I— so that’s it? You’re breaking up with me?”

The bus was close to the station now, though a bit blurry around the edges because of his tears. “Yeah,” he said as he reached out his arm to flag it down, not quite able to meet Taehyun’s eyes. “Yeah, I think it’s for the best.”

Beomgyu stood up, his legs surprisingly firm considering he couldn’t really feel them under him right now; he couldn’t feel much of anything still. “Um, I’ll see you tomorrow at school, maybe. Sorry, I—” He stopped, because what could he say. Sorry, I don’t know what else to do. Sorry, I feel so lost right now and I don’t want to drag you down with me. Sorry, I’m scared of what’s happening to us. Sorry, I don’t want to watch us slowly stop loving each other. “I’m sorry.”

He sneaked one last glance behind him to see Taehyun still sitting on the bench; and under the darkness of the awning, Beomgyu could see him clearly, could see the redness of his eyes, the slight wrinkles on the side of them — so he got them when he frowned, too. Beomgyu stepped onto the bus and heard the doors snap shut behind him.

Beomgyu preferred taking the train now.

“I’m sorry, Taehyun-ah,” Beomgyu said for what was probably the fifteenth time, but still feeling like it wasn’t nearly enough, yet it was all he could muster as he slowly patted Taehyun’s back. The younger had grown silent a few minutes ago, but he’d made no move to pull back and Beomgyu was being what he always was: Selfish.

When he felt Taehyun straightening up, Beomgyu quickly loosened his arms, fidgeting with his hands in his lap, not quite sure what else to say but “sorry” again.

Taehyun used the sleeves of his hoodie to dab at any remaining wetness on his face. Incredible, even after having a full-on sob Taehyun didn’t look any worse for wear except for two bright pink spots on his cheeks. Taehyun shook his head, “It’s okay. I’m fine — I cry now; it’s apparently something that I do.”

He was right. Beomgyu could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen Taehyun cry when they were dating. His heart sank. “Did you cry a lot?”

“After we broke up? Yeah.” It sounded like Taehyun snorted but what came out was a gentle huff of air instead.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because you never cried before and it’s my fault.”

Taehyun hummed, rubbing his nose — looking adorable and angelic and so unreal Beomgyu could almost imagine this was a dream. “Yeah, it was your fault for making me upset.”

Beomgyu winced.

“But I don’t think I would have cried like that if I hadn’t met you.”

“So—”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I— I was going to say, so … I see,” Beomgyu finished weakly.

This time Taehyun snorted for real, the corners of his lips turning up in a way that indicated he didn’t really want to smile, but couldn’t help it. “You’re such a loser.”

“I know.” Beomgyu had meant to make it a joke, but his delivery had been too genuine.

Taehyun blinked at him. “Thank you.”

“For calling myself a loser?”

Ah, there it was: Even that small hint of a real smile was enough for Beomgyu. “For apologizing, I guess,” Taehyun said, leaning the side of his head against the back of the couch. “And for making me cry.”

 _“I never say the right things.”_ That wasn’t true. Taehyun always said the right things; never with Beomgyu had he ever said anything he didn’t mean. And so Beomgyu waited.

“I don’t think I would have been able to cry like that if I hadn’t met you. You taught me a lot about how to be … vulnerable; you had always been so expressive and bright and you couldn’t hide your emotions from anyone. That’s why when you sort of shut down before we … broke up — I was scared, too, hyung.”

When had he started crying? This time it was Taehyun who reached out, gently catching his tears as they fell, continuing, “I was really mad and really upset at you for a long time. But when that eventually faded, I missed you a lot, and I wanted to remember the good things about you. Your emotions were what made you so beautiful and it … made me want to be brave, too. So then, I cried — a lot. But it helped. And the next time I met someone, I was a little less afraid.”

“Hueningkai?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you two …?” Taehyun had said they weren’t dating now, but—

“No, I don’t think Hueningkai— he’s far more interested in the stories he can write than living any of them out. But we talked a lot, and it was nice, to be able to feel like I was opening up to someone. And it was thanks to you, hyung.”

And Beomgyu’s smile was brilliant. It was like a bright flare streaking across the sky, illuminating, just for a moment, the things that Beomgyu wanted most: happiness and a warmth he hadn’t felt in so, so long. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again, leaving nothing but shame and contempt as Beomgyu’s only companions.

“I’m—” Beomgyu’s voice was scratchy and dry so he tried again. “I’m really glad. It makes me feel a little less shitty for breaking up with you.”

Taehyun sighed. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Do you think we could … ever be together again?” Beomgyu asked in a small voice.

“I don’t know.” And Beomgyu knew he meant this, too.

“Okay.”

“Do you want to get back together?”

“Yes,” Beomgyu confessed, fresh tears forming. “Of course.”

“Okay,” Taehyun reached out again, thumb smoothing over Beomgyu’s cheek. “Wait for me.”

──────

Today — whatever today was, Saturday, apparently — was Beomgyu’s new least favorite day of the week. He felt absolutely horrible.

After Taehyun left last night, Beomgyu had proceeded to cry, loudly, in the shower for maybe forty-five minutes before curling up in bed, hair damp and sniffling. He must have fallen asleep early in the morning, and as soon as he woke up, peeling back his swollen lids, he’d gotten a pounding headache from his crying the night before, not helped by the bright sunlight streaming in from his window because he’d forgotten to close his curtains last night — due to the aforementioned crying.

Sighing Beomgyu threw his arm over his eyes, his mind automatically spiraling through and replaying their conversation last night. Did they still love each other? Maybe. But Beomgyu also understood why this had become more than that, or at least, he tried to.

He grimaced. This was not going to turn into a repeat of last night. He would get up, and read his script, and maybe pick out an outfit for dinner tomorrow and he’d get back to the life he’d been trying to live before seeing Taehyun again. No matter how awful and lackluster that sounded.

Rubbing his arm over his eyes and taking a deep breath past the throbbing in his temples, Beomgyu forced himself into motion: sit up, get out of bed, make coffee— before the machine coffee had filled his cup, he heard his phone chime with the sound of a text. He practically dove for it.

 **Taehyun:** I liked your piercing

And suddenly, today didn’t seem so bad, after all.

It took two cups of coffee, another shower, and thirty minutes of watching cute puppy videos before Beomgyu felt semi-human again. Deciding that almost 12 hours of crying was probably enough even by his standards, Beomgyu threw himself into his script for the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday morning. It was somewhat liberating to shed the truths of his own life, if only for a few hours at a time.

The address Wonjun had sent him had been inconspicuous at first. It was a restaurant in a trendy part of town, popular with the working crowd for being busy late into the night. Occasionally, there would be small groups of college students that hung out here, but the drinks were usually too pricey (and the bartenders not generous enough with them) to truly be popular with the younger crowd. Beomgyu had been here a few times, only with managers and producers from the company though — never with his friends.

But he was certain he’d never been here before when the taxi he’d splurged on dropped him in front of the discreet but undoubtedly fancy restaurant tucked into a bustling street off the main road.

Fairly casual my ass, Beomgyu thought as he stepped into the lobby and gave the waitress the party name. He was led into a back room partitioned off by sliding doors — in it was a long table, mirrors in the back to make it look larger, a smattering of people already seated, though Beomgyu had thought he’d arrived quite early.

As he stepped into the room, he could feel the corner of his lips lift just a little bit more, his eyes widen maybe just a fraction, his laugh louder and more boisterous, his demeanor easy-going and bright: Another role he slipped into — naturally.

“—right when I walked in, so I thought he’d really broken his leg and I yelled so loudly. They threatened to put it in the behind the scenes teaser for weeks,” Beomgyu mock complained to those around him, laughing brightly after. He’d been holding court, for lack of the better word, at the right end of the table throughout the first hour of dinner. After introductions, the group had broken into smaller conversations.

Beomgyu was seated diagonally and two seats down from Oh Hyerim; the other main cast members seated between and around them. Beomgyu — as well everyone else — had heard the rumors about her: She was well-known for keeping actors late past shooting times to get a scene right; she was particular about which writers and actors and producers were on her projects (notoriously being known as “difficult to work with”); she would personally show up to run lines with one of her actors to make sure they got the right delivery. But none of that had prepared Beomgyu for how charismatic she was.

“Your film was great, Beomgyu-ssi.” Someone else’s voice cut into his thoughts. It took him a couple seconds to remember her name, but Beomgyu smiled back easily. Empty flattery, it had been as abundant tonight as the never-ending flow of champagne.

“It was hardly my film, but thank you.”

Mihwan laughed, “I can see why Director Oh chose you. You’re a good fit for your role.”

Beomgyu’s eyes twinkled as he leaned in closer, beckoning like he had a secret. “Someone told me off-the-record earlier that Park Daehyun read for my role.” He scooted back, keeping a proprietary distance once more. “I’m just lucky to be here.”

Mihwan’s eyes had grown wide, a satisfied smile curling her lip. Hook, line, sinker. “Director Oh doesn’t usually work with new actors.”

He nodded. “I have a lot to learn from you guys, since you’ve worked with her before,” Beomgyu prompted, arching a brow.

“She’s kind of intense, but she’s the best.”

Beomgyu scoffed, “So you’re saying I just have to work hard?”

“Not really.” Ah, so she did know what this was after all: Quid pro quo. Mihwan darted a look toward Hyerim, who was still engaged in conversation with Joonghwa, before continuing, “She may seem really friendly with everyone now, but she’s very big on … vibes. It’s hard to explain, but it’s one of her things. Joonghwa told me the same thing when I started working on _‘Twelve Lights.’_ ”

Beomgyu felt a trickle of unease down his spine — he hated that this was how things worked. “So what happened with Daehyun?”

Mihwan shrugged, “Like I said, it’s hard to explain. I don’t know if I even get it, but basically, she just has to like you. But it’s not as easy as it looks; Good luck.”

Despite their facades, Beomgyu could feel Mihwan’s genuine sympathy — maybe as someone who had been through it before. It only served to add to the sick feeling pooling in his stomach. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be too nervous, she must have liked you already to even cast you. Just don’t mess up,” Mihwan shot him maybe her first genuine smile of the night. “She’s particular, but she’s a genius — it’s not all bad.”

“Yeah, the script is crazy good. Not that I can really judge, but as an actor? I can’t wait to work on it.”

“That’s why everyone keeps coming back.”

“You included?”

“Of course,” Mihwan’s grin was once again dazzling. “I’m looking forward to working with you for a long time, Beomgyu-ssi.”

──────

Beomgyu knew he had to do it. He knew from experience that thinking about it was usually the worst part. However, tamping down his pride and actually apologizing to Soobin, well, that was easier said than done.

Grey walls and glass panels echoed with Beomgyu’s footsteps as he paced up and down the hallway of the company. He’d been talked into doing new comp cards today, but he was waiting for the photographer to finish up with some of the new recruits. Insong had pulled some strings to tack him onto the end of a shoot. Make that two boxes of macarons and some very expensive flowers he owed him.

After another manager had come out of the studio to shush him, Beomgyu slumped against the wall, turning his phone in his hand. Fuck, he just had to do it.

 **Beomgyu:** hey can we talk about last weekend  
**Beomgyu:** i want to apologize

Thank god the photographer called him in not long after that because Beomgyu didn’t know if he could stand staring at his phone, waiting for Soobin’s reply, turning over in his head if his messages had been too curt or if he should have just sent his entire — currently half-formed — apology over text.

Blinding lights and the will to look as good as possible momentarily eclipsed his worries about Soobin, but even before Beomgyu was done the nerves had already begun to creep back in.

He didn’t want to look at his phone. How long had that taken? Thirty minutes? That wasn’t a long time, he told himself, if Soobin hasn’t texted back yet, he’s probably just busy.

Beomgyu steeled himself as his finger swiped over his phone screen, unknowingly holding his breath.

 **Soobin:** yeah okay, I’m out with friends now do you want to join us and then we can talk after?

 **Beomgyu:** Yeonjun?

He wasn’t sure he could face the both of them at the same time. There was a reason he texted Soobin first — maybe it was cowardly of him, but he knew Soobin would be the easiest one to talk to. Yeonjun was all turbulent waters and unpredictable storms that he just had to weather through whereas Soobin’s anger was steady like a raging flame, manageable once appeased and quenched.

 **Soobin:** no he’s busy today  
**Soobin:** visiting family

Beomgyu knew what that meant and winced, doubly glad he didn’t reach out to Yeonjun today. But also feeling vaguely guilty because he knew what Yeonjun’s family could be like — had seen the fallout of a simple visit firsthand — and regretted that he was just one more person Yeonjun felt like he couldn’t reach out to talk to now.

 **Beomgyu:** ok where are you?

Soobin dropped a Maps location in their chat. It wasn’t too far from where Beomgyu was — he thanked the company’s central location, not for the first time.

 **Beomgyu:** ok be there in 20?

 **Soobin:** sure text me when you’re here  
**Soobin:** I’m still mad at you

Yeah, he’d been getting a lot of that nowadays. But nevertheless, Beomgyu smiled — he could imagine Soobin’s petulant pout, the way that curve under his lip would grow more pronounced, his dimples showing much to his displeasure. It meant he was already forgiven, which gave Beomgyu the courage to reply: _Me too._

It was getting colder and colder now as the new year approached, and Beomgyu grimaced as he stepped out into the chilly Seoul air. It wasn’t just the weather that bothered him though: It was the couples that had seemingly sprouted out of thin air the closer it got to the holidays, a glaring reminder of everything Beomgyu would not be doing — who he wouldn’t be with — this year.

Even when he ducked into the station, there was no relief. Up on a billboard overhead was an ad for an outdoor, rooftop skating rink. Beomgyu quickly averted his eyes, willing his mind to think of anything other than Taehyun’s giggle and bright smile as he helped Beomgyu up from the ice for the fifth time, ever patient and forgiving, even as Beomgyu struggled to do simple laps around the rink. _“I’ll always wait for you, hyung.”_

Beomgyu spent the rest of the short trip blasting loud music and pointedly staring at his slightly scuffed black boots.

Out of everyone that Beomgyu had expected Soobin to be hanging out with, this was definitely, most certainly not even near his top ten guesses. Beomgyu stood slightly slack-jawed as he saw Soobin and his friend exit the mall doors from the station entrance.

Why did Hueningkai always manage to catch him off guard?

“Beomgyu-hyung!” There was no mistaking that enthusiastic greeting. There was also no mistaking the pair, towering over the rest of the crowd, as they made their way towards him.

“Hi, I— didn’t know you two were friends?” Beomgyu asked, meeting them away from the entrance. His smile for Soobin was maybe slightly more contrite.

“Taehyun introduced us.” Soobin’s simple explanation in no way satisfied the very many questions Beomgyu suddenly had. And not for the first time, he felt a twinge of guilt for being so distant the past two years. What did he expect? For them to never talk again just because he had decided that for himself?

“I like your new hair!” Hueningkai chimed in, saving Beomgyu from having to answer.

“Thanks.” Beomgyu had yet to decide whether Hueningkai was just exceptionally bad at reading the room or if he was truly too kind to point out when other people were being idiots.

“We were just shopping around, but I want to go to this good gelato place nearby, do you want to get some?” Hueningkai chirped.

“Gelato in the winter?”

“People who can’t eat cold things in the winter are weak and don’t know how to enjoy life, Beomgyu,” Soobin said matter-of-factly.

Beomgyu burst into giggles, having no choice but to acquiesce as Hueningkai led the way to a small, but busy, gelato shop a couple blocks away, pattering on about flavor recommendations as they got in line. A part of Beomgyu was thankful for Hueningkai’s natural chatter, so he wouldn’t have to dwell on the awkward air between him and Soobin.

The three of them crammed into the corner of a booth in the shop, sharing a table with — oh, fuck — yet another couple. Beomgyu inwardly groaned and angled his back towards them so he could face Hueningkai head on. He wasn’t sure how to feel now that he knew the other boy wasn’t dating Taehyun. His approach to Hueningkai had before been aversion, caution, and maybe a little resentment, but now he felt … bad. “Hueningkai, you said you’re a writer? What do you want to do?”

Hueningkai reached up to rub his nose shyly, “I don’t really know yet. I really enjoy writing … books? I mean, I’ve yet to actually finish one.” He laughed noisily, belying his embarrassed, somewhat hesitant demeanor. “But I guess maybe also scripts. I just think it’s fun to tell stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Tragedies, I guess?”

“Tragedies?” Beomgyu didn’t mean to sound so bewildered.

Hueningkai laughed loudly again, drawing the eyes of some around them, though the younger didn’t seem to be aware. “Like, moral dilemmas. Maybe a classic fall from grace type of story? Stories that highlight and talk about a problem, but don’t really offer a solution.”

“That sounds—”

“Far too big brain for me,” Soobin cut in, waving around his spoon still with a little bit of gelato on it.

“It’s like when you listen to sad songs, hyung,” Hueningkai said, pursing his lips. He looked to Beomgyu for help, and rolled his eyes when Beomgyu stared back at him wide-eyed. “Like you can feel good when you listen to a slow song with sad lyrics. Don’t you sometimes feel … content?”

“No, I feel fucking depressed,” Beomgyu cut in.

Soobin snorted. “Sorry, Hyuka, I agree with Beomgyu on this one.”

“Fine,” Hueningkai said, throwing his hands up in defeat, which accidentally flicked a large clump of gelato onto the wall behind him, which caused Hueningkai to shriek loudly and preceded the three of them gathering their cups with haste and and exiting the store promptly, still chuckling.

“Oh, hyung,” Hueningkai said excitedly as they walked down the narrow street. “I read in the news, congrats on the role!”

“What role?” Soobin asked, scraping the last of his gelato from the bottom of his cup.

“Oh, um,” Beomgyu hadn’t meant to hide it from Soobin, but considering they had just been fresh from a fight, he didn’t know why he felt kind of guilty for not telling him. “I got the part that I talked about before when we met at that coffee shop, a while back?”

Soobin’s head snapped up, gelato forgotten, and despite the fact that they hadn’t quite made up yet, that Beomgyu hadn’t properly apologized, that Soobin still had every right to be mad at him, his eyes were crescent-shaped and kind. “That’s great, Beomgyu, congrats.”

Beomgyu’s chest felt a bit less tight.

The three of them spent another hour or so wandering into stores, messing around at an arcade with a claw machine for twenty minutes, and stopping by a local — very local by the looks of the rickety door and strong smell of paint when they entered — arts and crafts shop for Soobin to pick up some supplies.

“Do you want to talk about Taehyun?” Soobin asked, as they waved goodbye to Hueningkai, who was waving back at them excitedly from the window of a bus that was already pulling away from the curb.

“Huh?” Beomgyu whipped his head around to look at Soobin.

Soobin smiled patiently down at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 _Did_ he want to talk about it? “Yeah, okay.”

Those who were done with work were emerging from their offices and into the fading sunset as Beomgyu and Soobin hunted around the area for a quiet spot, finally settling on a simple, nondescript street-side store serving warm red bean soup and other desserts. Shuffling in with their padded jackets, both of them straddled small stools, each finishing about half of their soup before Beomgyu spoke.

“Before— I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, that day at Yeonjun’s place.”

Soobin shook his head. “I kind of knew you would be mad, that’s why I didn’t say anything that night, but, I guess, I didn’t know how you really felt?”

“Yeah, god, I really blew up, didn't I?” Beomgyu laughed dryly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t even that mad at you, I was just— I was upset.”

Soobin hummed, dragging his spoon through his warm soup. “Upset about Taehyun?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu sighed.

“You never really talked to us about it after.” From anyone else it might have sounded like an accusation, but Soobin’s was simply a statement. “Actually, you never really talked to us at all.” Now that one was definitely an accusation. Beomgyu winced.

“I know, I’m … sorry about that, too. I guess my way of dealing with it was just to … not?” God, that sounded so bad now that Beomgyu finally said it out loud.

“We can talk about it now,” Soobin offered.

God, where did he even begin? “Why didn’t you and Yeonjun move in together?”

They both seemed a bit taken aback by Beomgyu’s question, but Soobin, as always, replied considerately. “Yeonjun got a part-time job at that dance studio he went to back in high school. The one by the cat cafe? He wanted a place between that and school.”

“And you didn’t want to move there with him?”

Soobin wrinkled his brows. “It’s not as close to school as my apartment. It doesn’t make sense for me to move further away.”

“But …” Beomgyu trailed off, trying to figure out if he sounded crazy right now. Why was Soobin responding like this was all so logical? Wasn’t it normal to want to be with the one you loved? “Don’t you want to be together?”

Soobin giggled, slightly bewildered. “Yeah, of course. Maybe after we graduate or something, we can move in together.”

As if Soobin could read Beomgyu’s confusion plainly on his face, he continued, “I miss him sometimes, but … ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ and all that.”

Beomgyu must have made a face, because Soobin laughed, swatting his shoulder. “Okay, that was corny, but you get what I mean. We just spend the time that we have together well. Sometimes … I don’t know, space can be good? It doesn’t mean we don’t still love each other even if we’re apart. I think that became clear, especially after he left for college.”

It wasn’t like this was the thing that broke him and Taehyun up. It wasn’t like Taehyun not wanting to be roommates with him had been the reason Beomgyu had ended things; it had just been one of many challenges that turned the changes they were facing into a doomsday scenario in his mind.

Distance, physical or otherwise, between them had seemed like the scariest thing to seventeen-year-old Beomgyu. He’d thought not seeing each other would spell out eventual disaster. He had been so afraid of losing Taehyun.

No — he had been so afraid of being left behind.

But now, sitting across from Soobin, who seemed so content to be where he was, where Beomgyu maybe could have been if things had ended up differently back then, he had never wanted so badly to go back and redo everything.

The train ride home was just Beomgyu and his thoughts.

_“Okay, wait for me.”_

Beomgyu couldn’t keep the silly smile off his face whenever he remembered. Erratic hope making his heart speed up even though he didn’t dare think about what could come after.

So Beomgyu had gotten his wish. His misguided, desperate wish: Taehyun had changed a lot in these two years. And though Beomgyu tried to mask his idleness with new hair and friends and a job, the things that mattered had stayed the same. He’d been so terrified of this crushing regret that he had used anything to give himself an illusion of moving on.

Never once in the past two years had he really stopped to think about what he was doing, too busy running away. And towards what? Perpetual heartbreak and self-loathing?

The train stopped — he got off.

His apartment was pitch black when he entered, feeling bereft, but of what he wasn't sure — there were a lot of options to choose from. Plugging his phone into the charger, Beomgyu stood in his darkened apartment waiting for it to power up. His neighbors — or the people living in the apartment across from his — had set up Christmas lights and the neon red, blue, green, purple flashes flickered in the darkness. He felt hollow; but for the first time in a long, long time, Beomgyu allowed himself to just be still.

Soon his phone screen lit up with life again, and he typed in his passcode, scanning through the notifications on his lock screen: Texts from his group chat with Seungbin and Sangyoon and others, a message from his mom asking about new years, and — Taehyun.

 **Taehyun:** Look outside it’s snowing

As if on cue, Beomgyu walked towards his windows, squinting, and indeed, he could see errant specks floating in the sky.

 **Beomgyu:** tell it to stop

Since seeing each other last week they’d started occasionally texting. It was awkward at first, with Beomgyu second-guessing every message sent, nervous and jittery and jumping at every beep of his phone. But old habits never really went away, and their banter, the simple, witty answers from Taehyun that never failed to make him squeal and giggle slotted themselves back in his life, as if they had never left. They never talked about anything specific, never about anything consequential, just Beomgyu sending Taehyun his menu choices for lunch and asking which one he should pick, or Taehyun sending him photos of a cute puppy he saw, or they would talk briefly about what their plans were in the morning. It was the best part of Beomgyu’s day.

 **Taehyun:** I’ll pass your message along to god  
**Taehyun:** no promises though

 **Beomgyu:** i saw hueningkai today

 **Taehyun:** then you should have told him yourself

 **Beomgyu:** stfu hueningkai can’t be god  
**Beomgyu:** he writes sad shit

 **Taehyun:** I sometimes think god is a little sadistic

 **Beomgyu:** damn 

**Taehyun:** I'm pretty sure it’s snowing into tomorrow

 **Beomgyu:** oh  
**Beomgyu:** i have my reading 

**Taehyun:** don't be nervous  
**Taehyun:** goodluck hyung

Beomgyu grinned, feeling his heart flip. So maybe it wasn’t about running blindly into the future, where old hurts and constant heartbreak could no longer reach him, or about staying in the past, mired in regret and shame. Maybe it was just about living in the present, and being okay right now; and maybe, finally, Beomgyu felt that could be possible for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter. THIS CHAPTER. gave me so much trouble from start to finish. i think i really spent a whole week just working out what taegyu were going to say to each other and then i still wasn’t sure about everything until i edited it three times over lmaoo but i’m happy with how it turned out — thanks for being so patient with me. 
> 
> as always, i love hearing what you think, about taegyu, taehyun, beomgyu, hueningkai?, yeonbin??, and everything else i threw at you in this chapter. feel free to leave it in my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/suwubin) if you prefer. 
> 
> see you again in maybe (fingers crossed) less than two weeks this time!


	4. IV.

“It’s your fault he got hurt!”

Beomgyu gritted his teeth even as he tried to keep his face passive, “It was his choice to come.”

“He was trying to protect you. How selfish can you be?” Mihwan’s anguished voice rang out in the large basement where the main cast were having their first read through.

He and Mihwan continued through the rest of their scene, the two of them immersed enough in their roles and familiar enough with these lines to fire them off rapidly. They’d been at this for four hours. They’d gone through this scene maybe eight times now. But Beomgyu loved it.

He had missed this: Losing himself in a role, forgetting about being Beomgyu and the worries and insecurities and doubts that came with it.

It had been exhilarating to step into the shoes of Seokhwan — a character not without his own issues, but at least Beomgyu wouldn’t be burdened with solving them, giving him freedom to allow his emotions to rise to the surface, happy to let the script and story dictate predictable, safe outcomes.

A part of him feared that it would be ripped away; They’d realize he was a fraud, that he wasn’t good enough. Hyerim would sneer at him and toss him aside like she had to Daehyun, apparently.

“Hey,” Beomgyu glanced up, slightly startled. They’d paused for a short break about five minutes ago, but Beomgyu had been too busy jotting down feedback he’d received to notice anyone approaching. Joonghwa was standing by the back of his chair. “Wonjun wants to talk to us about our fight training.”

“Oh, okay.” Leaving his things, Beomgyu followed Joonghwa out into the hallway. The harsh light made their shadows long as they headed towards the staffs’ room where he assumed Wonjun was waiting for them.

“You’re doing really well.” Sure, Beomgyu had gotten satisfactory feedback about his acting since they’d started hours ago, but this was the first time someone had given him positive affirmation that he belonged here, and Beomgyu clung to it like a lifeline.

“Thanks,” he breathed. “It’s kind of hard to tell with her.”

“It’s always hard to tell what she’s thinking,” Joonghwa laughed. “Trust me. Even after working with her for so long she sometimes still surprises me, but that’s what makes the job and roles interesting.”

The tension in Beomgyu’s chest lifted slightly with Joonghwa’s praise. “Ha, yeah. It’s challenging, but like, good, you know? I’m enjoying myself.”

“Then you’re in the right place,” Joonghwa gave him an indecipherable smile as they reached the break room. He knocked on the door once, twice, before twisting the knob so they could enter.

In the room was Wonjun with a few other assistants and producers that Beomgyu recognized from his audition, but hadn’t gotten the chance to sweet-talk yet. As soon as they entered, the conversation paused and Wonjun beckoned them over.

“Here are your training schedules for the fight scenes,” Wonjun said, handing each of them a sheet of paper. “They’re preliminary dates set up until the first few months of next year, but we wanted to coordinate with the stunt company early for when they’ll be available to work with you. I know you both have expressed interest in doing your own stunts, but Director Oh will make the final call. Your first session is on Friday morning, and the rest should be on the weekends.”

“On Christmas?” Beomgyu asked, eyes glancing over the sheet quickly. Wonjun was right, first session Friday at 8 a.m. The rest of the dates marked off on the printed calendar were mostly Saturday mornings, doubled up with Sundays on a couple weeks.

“Yes,” Wonjun answered directly. No “is that okay with you?” or “sorry for the inconvenience.” Beomgyu was getting a better sense of what Mihwan meant by “intense,” apparently that didn’t just apply to Hyerim.

“Okay.”

“I’ll also email these to you in case you lose them. But directions to the studio are at the top of the sheet.” Wonjun looked around the room, the others having resumed their conversation — albeit in more subdued voices than before — and waved over a woman with bleached hair, her roots having grown out about two inches. “Beomgyu-ssi, you probably haven’t met her yet. This is Eunyoung; she’ll be with you both at the training studio Friday. Her contact info should be on the cast and staff list sent out on Monday. If you have any problems, let her know.”

Beomgyu nodded at Eunyoung, murmuring a placid, rehearsed greeting, smiling in a way that he knew showed off his bright eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Joonghwa nod as well, though they obviously already knew each other due to the lack of introductions from Wonjun.

“Is it always like this? Working holidays and stuff?” Beomgyu asked Joonghwa when they’d exited back out into the hallway.

Joonghwa gave him another indecipherable look. “Yeah, that’s what it’s like to work on a big budget project, Beomgyu-ssi. Didn’t you read your contract?”

“Well, yeah, but I thought that was more for, like, reshoots or emergencies.”

“Director Oh doesn’t do breaks. She says it messes with the mindset of the actor — makes it harder to get back into character if we stray away for too long.”

Beomgyu was starting to regret bringing this up. “Okay, that makes sense, I guess.”

“What? You have family giving you trouble? A girlfriend?” Joonghwa nudged him in the shoulder, a thinly veiled attempt at prying. Joonghwa seemed nice enough, if not a bit smug and slightly annoying, and maybe on any other subject Beomgyu would have gotten into it but this, well, this was a sore subject for him, to say the least.

“No,” Beomgyu pouted. “It’s fine; I was just curious.”

By the time Beomgyu left the reading, it was nearing midnight. After the usual “good job today” from the cast and a reminder from Hyerim that they were to meet back tomorrow to continue, Beomgyu hopped on the train, grateful that he could finally let exhaustion stoop his shoulders.

Despite telling Beomgyu “don’t think just because we’ve made up that I’m going to do your dirty work for you. You still need to talk to Yeonjun” on Sunday, Soobin had initiated Project Make Up and Play Nice between them the following day, sending a text inviting Beomgyu to Christmas lunch at his place in their group chat.

Beomgyu was thankful though — it had always been Soobin keeping the peace in their little friend group; both he and Yeonjun often too stubborn to apologize to each other first, or at all. Beomgyu could still remember an already towering Soobin watching over them as they grudgingly spoke after their first big, throw-down fight. If Soobin had been waiting for anything spectacular though, he’d been disappointed. They’d given each other wary looks, said “we’re cool, I guess” and then decided to go to the convenience store for snacks after school. Everything was always better mended over food, anyway.

Pulling up their chat, Beomgyu sent quick messages about having to work early in the morning Friday, apologizing for not being able to make it. And unlike Chuseok, or the Christmas before, or New Years before that, he actually meant it this time.

Holidays had always been spent at Soobin’s house — ever since Beomgyu’s parents moved back to Daegu during his senior year in high school. Soobin’s family would always welcome Yeonjun and Beomgyu, and eventually, Taehyun, too, in their home, even though they had a small, square dining table that usually sat four. The seven of them would crowd in the small kitchen area — lived in but neat — and it would be a tight fit but it was cozy, like home. It’d been a while since Beomgyu had felt that way.

His dark apartment was worlds away from the warm memory of Soobin’s kitchen. Beomgyu didn’t bother turning on the lights before falling face-first on his bed and knocking out.

The next day was more of the same: 9 a.m. at the atrium studio, long hours of reading and re-reading, meeting with producers to schedule individual rehearsals or to receive directions to filming locations. After a few hours, they were permitted their first, short break, and Beomgyu could already feel fatigue digging into his shoulders. He’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep last night — which was more than some nights he spent out — so he didn’t understand why he felt so tired.

“Beomgyu-ssi.”

Actually, he knew why.

Beomgyu had chalked it up to first day nerves and the pressure of making good first impressions, but even today, he could feel a low, simmering tension every time Hyerim spoke. If she had been cold or dismissive or even if she wasn’t that good of a director, Beomgyu maybe could have lived with her not liking him, even if the notion of being blacklisted off her future projects was akin to hell itself in this industry; but there was something magnetic about her. He wanted her to like him; apart from the production and his skills as an actor. Hence, the low-grade headache he’d started developing since hour two of today’s read through.

He approached the head of the table where Hyerim had beckoned him over. “Beomgyu-ssi, can you drive?”

“Yeah, I can,” Beomgyu sat when Hyerim motioned at the chair next to her.

Her eyes glimmered as she gave him a smirk, “I mean, can you drive well?”

“Yes, of course!”

Hyerim laughed, a loud, raucous whoop though Beomgyu sincerely doubted what he said had been that funny. “You never know around here. People say they can drive then parallel park a meter away from the curb. Where did you learn?”

“My dad taught me.”

“Hmmm, we’ll have you test out the car next week.”

“You don’t trust me?” Beomgyu asked, hand on heart, feigning a hurt look. Dramatics didn’t work on some people, but it always did on actors.

“Not after someone drove a car off set and straight into one of our cameras last year,” Hyerim arched her brows. “He said he could drive, too.”

“Consider that I’m too broke to pay for a fancy camera.”

She laughed again, boisterous. Hyerim smiled wide though it was more like a flash of teeth than a real grin. “Yes, because he certainly was just begging for that 9 million Won bill. Come in early on Thursday.”

Before Beomgyu could reply, she was reaching into her bag — a large brand name splayed across the side of it — and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, continuing, “I’ve got to get some air. It’s not good for your complexion if you stay indoors all day, Beomgyu-ssi. Join me for a smoke?”

 _I don’t smoke_ , he wanted to say. _And it’s probably worse for my complexion than staying indoors_ , he also wanted to add. But instead, he said, “Sure.”

There was a wide balcony off the atrium studio they were rehearsing in, and Beomgyu dutifully trailed Hyerim to it. She lit her cigarette as soon as they stepped out, but didn’t offer Beomgyu one. “How was it, working on Director Kwon’s film?”

Was this why she’d brought him out? She wanted him to spill on the only other big name director he’s worked with? “It was my first big production, so I don’t know if I have a lot to compare it to.”

Hyerim smiled knowingly, “I’m not what you think, Beomgyu-ssi. He’s one of my good friends.”

Immediately, Beomgyu felt guilty for assuming her ulterior motives. “He was great — gave me the time of day even though I was just there for a couple weeks.”

“Jaejun has always had a soft spot for pretty faces.”

Beomgyu balked. Did that mean what he thought it did? Or was he reading too much into it? He didn’t know her well enough — at all — to be able to tell, but Beomgyu could feel Hyerim’s heavy gaze on him and there it was, that feeling he was being tested. “I guess I’m lucky.” He felt slightly sick, maybe it was the smoke.

Hyerim only hummed in response, looking out over the balcony at the street below. A silent beat passed as she steadily blew out one breath, then two. She flicked her wrist over the railing, finally speaking again, “I love people watching, Beomgyu-ssi, especially from here. What floor are we on? Four? It’s just high enough that they won’t notice us, but not too high that we can’t see the details.”

Beomgyu followed her gaze to see a couple exiting a local coffee chain down the block. The girl was obviously upset about something, her boyfriend following behind stiffly while on his phone. The girl looked behind her to maybe say something to the boy who threw his free hand up in exasperation. And the rapid-fire tension of it all — it drew Beomgyu in.

“Ah, young love,” Hyerim snickered. Beomgyu felt his attention torn from the couple; he hadn’t decided if he, too, should laugh or not when she spoke again. “I get some of my best ideas while people watching.”

“Like this drama?” Beomgyu asked, relatively relieved that all this had circled back to work. He had no idea what he would even say if Hyerim had wanted to stay on the topic of young love. Yeah, by the way, my young love didn’t go that well, want to hear about it? He internally cringed.

“No, this one was after I divorced my husband.”

This time, a snort escaped Beomgyu before he could restrain himself, but it seemed Hyerim didn’t mind because she let out another roaring laugh, too. “It was mutual, no crushing heartbreaks or petty jealousies, unfortunately. But it was still quite thought provoking. That’s what I want to do with this drama, Beomgyu-ssi. I want to explore each of these characters deeply — make them messy.”

The emotion in Hyerim’s voice was infectious. Beomgyu could feel her passion, her inspiration practically emanating from her being, and his weariness from before quickly melted away at the prospect of, wow, getting to work on this show, portraying one of these characters, doing what he wanted and loved with someone who felt the same way.

Hyerim stubbed out her cigarette, turning towards Beomgyu and looking him in the eye for the first time since they’d walked out here. “Can I count on you to do that, Beomgyu-ssi?”

“Of course.”

──────

Beomgyu had never really thought about what it would feel like to get sucker-punched in the face.

He’d come dangerously close once, but Seungbin had arrived just in time, apologizing and shuffling both him and Sangyoon out of the club before things could get out of hand.

Come Friday morning, he no longer had to imagine. Oh no, he hadn’t actually gotten punched, but if he had, it would feel a lot better than this — that thought briefly crossed Beomgyu’s mind before he fell head-first onto the mat for what felt like the twentieth time that day.

“Good!” The trainer’s voice came from somewhere above him. Beomgyu was glad someone approved of him — though he certainly felt like he’d had to work for it.

On any other day, this would have seemed fun to him, and it had certainly been exciting for maybe the first thirty minutes, until the exhaustion from the past two days caught up to him. They’d been at this for two hours now, and his entire body felt like jelly.

Crawling up onto all fours on the padded mat, Beomgyu gratefully accepted Joonghwa’s outstretched hand to help him stand. They were both dripping in sweat, leaving dark imprints on the ground whenever they fell, or more appropriately, when they fake-slammed each other on the mat, though it was starting to feel less and less fake to Beomgyu, who could feel a nasty bruise developing on his upper arm.

By the time they were dismissed at eleven, all Beomgyu wanted to do was go home, shower, and sleep for a good twelve hours. But a disappointed, empty feeling in the back of his mind was persistent — and he knew what it was.

Beomgyu paused just inside the train station, looking down at a text on his phone; a simple one from Soobin sent this morning shortly after he’d arrived at the training studio: _Merry Christmas!_

He glanced at the time on his lockscreen: 11:08 A.M. He could still make it.

Even after all these years, Beomgyu had no problem remembering what stop Soobin’s house was at and how to get there from the station. Twenty minutes later, he was sweaty, panting, but not too late, he hoped. He rang the doorbell. Beomgyu could hear it echo inside, before it was followed by a distant yell — which sounded like Soobin’s sister — and then footsteps just on the other side of the door.

When the door swung open, the last person Beomgyu expected to see was Taehyun — in faded jeans and a simple t-shirt — though it made sense that he would be here. It seems the only one who hadn’t been able to make it all these years was Beomgyu. He felt the remaining air in his lungs rush out in one fell swoop, “Hey.”

“Hey, I thought Soobin said you couldn’t make it?” Taehyun asked, not making any motion to let him in.

“Oh, um, I had training this morning, but we finished early, so I thought I’d come over …” Beomgyu trailed off, worry creeping in on him — it was kind of inconsiderate to show up unannounced, even if he had been invited, wasn’t it? He grimaced, too late. “Sorry, I probably should have texted before.”

“Beomgyu?” Soobin’s voice reached him from deeper in the house, before his head popped up over Taehyun’s shoulder. “Hey! Did you finish your training?”

“Yeah, uh, we just ended, I’m kind of gross right now.”

Soobin laughed, “That’s okay, come in!”

Beomgyu took off his shoes gratefully and followed Taehyun and Soobin into the house. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored wall clock in the hallway and couldn’t help but snort. His hair was a mess and still partly stuck to his forehead from sweat, his cheeks were still tinged pink, probably also from rushing here, and his eyes were blown wide.

“What’s so funny?” Taehyun asked him from the doorway of the kitchen, eyes twinkling though his expression was still impassive.

Beomgyu could hear muffled conversation and the occasional snap of chopsticks and Yeonjun’s loud laugh from behind Taehyun. He felt at ease. “Nothing,” he shook his head.

Taehyun only nodded with a gentle smile, softening his face and melting Beomgyu’s heart in the process — “Merry Christmas” was all he said before disappearing into the glow of the kitchen. Beomgyu was glad that he’d come after all.

He entered the kitchen to a chorus of greetings, first a hoarse holler from Yeonjun, who was already seated, then warm smiles and quick hellos from Soobin’s mom and sister. The kitchen was a bit overly warm for Beomgyu who could still feel sweat sticking his shirt to his back, but he didn’t complain, sitting down. The chopsticks laid out before him were the same ones he’d used back in middle school when he visited — the red and white flowers at the end were now slightly chipped after years of use. Ah, home.

“How was training this morning?” Soobin asked, breaking the natural hush that had fallen over the table as everyone began eating.

“It was good, but I’ll be surprised if I can stand let alone walk tomorrow,” Beomgyu said, yawning right on cue.

“You had to work today?” Soobin’s sister asked with a frown.

“It was just stunt stuff; I think it was the only day they could schedule it.” Beomgyu didn’t know why he felt like he had to defend his work. Even if he had been surprised about working on Christmas, like Joonghwa had said, long days, late nights and working odd times came with the territory. “I have tomorrow off though.”

“How long is your break?” Yeonjun asked.

“We have rehearsals again on Monday.”

“That’s kind of rough, isn’t it?”

“All big projects are like this,” Beomgyu shrugged casually, playing off his irritation, even as he could feel Taehyun’s eyes on him from across the table.

“Soobin told me the show you’re working on is directed by Oh Hyerim?” Soobin’s mom interjected. “I loved ‘Twelve Lights.’ ”

“It’s hard to believe Beomgyu is going to be a lead in a drama; I still remember when you and Soobin stole my light up magic wands to sneak into our neighbors backyard.”

“Oh no, not this story,” Soobin groaned, trying his best to reach over and cover his boyfriend’s ears so he would be spared the experience.

But Yeonjun deftly dodged Soobin’s hands, even as he snatched another piece of meat off his plate. “Oh no, noona, please keep going, why did they try to sneak into your neighbor’s yard?”

“Oh, they thought they saw a ghost,” Soobin’s mom tittered, barely holding back a smile. “Turns out it was his maltese. He’d accidentally closed the patio doors and it couldn’t get back inside.”

“Yeah, and then Soobin almost got bit so he started crying and screaming, waking up the rest of us and Mr. Kook.”

Soobin was now sitting with his head in his hands, and as large as they were, they weren’t big enough to cover his reddening ears. Sputtering and embarrassed, Soobin had quickly tried to turn the conversation back to Beomgyu’s job, which then led to an impassioned speech from Soobin’s mom about how ‘Twelve Lights’ had been one of the best shows she’d ever seen.

An hour later, leaning back in his chair, Beomgyu felt like he was going to explode. Out of the corner of his eye, Beomgyu saw Soobin sneak another end-cabbage piece onto Yeonjun’s plate. He smirked — he’d tease him about that later.

“Thank you for the food,” Taehyun murmured from his right, which set off a chain from him to Yeonjun as Soobin’s mom beamed at them.

“Of course, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you all. It used to be so lively when everyone came over after school.”

“It’s been harder to find time since we all graduated,” Taehyun said simply, saving any of them from having to divulge the real reason for their distance.

“Well, friends are important, especially when they are as close as you all are. I hope you’ll make time for each other when it counts.” Her kind smile turned on Beomgyu; the knowing glint in her eyes told him she knew more than they were letting on. And unbidden he felt a faint prickling in the corner of his eyes. Somehow Beomgyu managed to smile back, before they started clearing away their dishes.

The four of them offered to help about a half-dozen times, puttering around the kitchen aimlessly, until Soobin’s mom and sister finally had enough and ushered them out with a plate of fruit. As they made their way to the living room, Beomgyu felt Yeonjun’s arm around his shoulders before he heard, “So where are our presents?”

“Soobin said we weren’t doing presents,” Beomgyu said, holding his hands up in the classic not-guilty gesture.

“He lied, where’s my gift?”

“My presence here is your gift.”

Yeonjun scrunched his nose, “Shit, where’s the receipt so I can get a refund?”

“Don’t be mean to him; he’ll never come again,” Soobin whined coming between them.

“Just invite me over when this one isn’t here,” Beomgyu said pointing at Yeonjun.

“I’m the boyfriend; I get priority!”

“I’m the childhood best friend; his mom likes me more!”

“That’s not true, we all know his mom likes _me_ the most,” Taehyun said, throwing himself on the couch.

“That’s not fair; you’re all our parents’ favorite,” Beomgyu pouted, sitting down next to Taehyun as Yeonjun and Soobin took the other sofa.

“Taehyun has that classic token good friend vibe,” Yeonjun agreed.

“I thought I was the token good friend,” Soobin argued.

“You _were_ , and then Taehyun came along and he had better grades than you.” Beomgyu said matter-of-factly, leaning over to grab a pear slice despite feeling close to exploding.

“Sorry, hyung, only one person can be top of class,” Taehyun added, though he did not sound sorry in the least.

“That’s not true, you two weren’t even in the same year let alone the same class. Soobin just flunked math.”

“Thank you for your insight, _Beomgyu_. I will not be inviting you back next Christmas.”

Beomgyu shoved another pear slice in his mouth. “Hey, your bad grades are not my fault.”

“I didn’t need good math scores to get into art—”

The tell-tale sound of the front door opening had the four of them turning their heads just as Soobin’s older brother walked in, his grin shit-eating when he saw the rest of them sprawled around his living room. “Hey hey hey, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you guys.”

“Hi, hyung!” Beomgyu called, smiling wide — until he got a good look at him. “Whoa! What the hell? You have a beard now?”

“Yeah, I look good, right?”

“Um,” Beomgyu coughed. “Sure thing, hyung, you look great!”

“Don’t make me kick you out of our house on Christmas, Beomgyu.”

“It’s okay, I would support you, hyung,” Soobin deadpanned, which led to a loud exclamation of protest from Beomgyu.

Eventually Soobin turned on the TV and the four of them half-chatted, half-watched the cartoon reruns on TV. Sunken deep into Soobin’s couch cushions, Beomgyu could feel the past couple days and this morning catching up to him, but even as he felt more and more sleepy he was also more and more content. It was like time had somehow turned backwards — not literally, because they all looked a few years older and Soobin’s brother had a beard now — but looking around the room, feeling warm and loved, Beomgyu could almost believe Soobin had been right about things going back to the way they were before.

──────

The wood and thin metal under Beomgyu’s fingertips felt foreign.

As he experimentally plucked at a few strings, Beomgyu automatically started humming, adjusting the little pegs at the end of his guitar — it’d been so long since he’d played that it had gone way out of tune. After about ten or so minutes of adjusting, Beomgyu felt satisfied with the sound, strumming a few chords to double check. He cleared his throat and looked at his phone, psyching himself up to tap the red record button.

He gave a small smile and awkward wave, eyes quickly flitting away to look back at the guitar on his lap. Beomgyu spoke, still looking down, partly to buy himself more time and partly for the eventual viewer, “Just so you know, it’s been awhile since I played.”

Maybe he should have practiced this before but he’d just gotten home from a full day of filming and it was already well past midnight. Beomgyu hummed the opening melody of the song before letting his hands take over. Faster than he thought, familiarity and muscle memory guided his motions as he started in on the first chorus of ‘Sunkissed.’ It wasn’t perfect — his hand stumbled on a particularly fast progression. But Beomgyu didn’t linger on the error, repositioning almost instantly and restarting from the bridge.

When he finished, Beomgyu gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to the camera, mouth comically wide and eyes rounding, more at ease now that the hard part was over. Beomgyu scooted closer to the phone, picking it up and waving wildly, “Hope you liked it! Happy new year!”

He didn’t give himself time to think about it — didn’t even rewatch the recording — before sending the video to Taehyun.

It took about forty seconds for his video to load; his eyes trained on the blue bar creeping across the top of his screen the whole time. And when it sent, with a funny little bloop sound, Beomgyu let out the breath he’d been holding. No taking it back now.

Despite telling himself that he wouldn’t check their chat again until after he’d finished getting ready for bed — brushing his teeth, applying toner and lotion, going over his lines for the scenes they were filming tomorrow — as soon he heard the beep, Beomgyu dove for his bed, grabbing his phone, toner forgotten.

 **Taehyun** : Happy new year  
**Taehyun:** I loved it  
**Taehyun:** it’s been so long since I’ve heard you play

Beomgyu smiled wide, happiness bubbling in his chest.

 **Beomgyu** : sorry i couldn’t come tonight

**Taehyun:** I can’t believe they made you work

**Beomgyu:** it’s okayyy  
**Beomgyu:** everyone had to be there today :(

**Taehyun:** we missed you

Beomgyu really, really, really hoped that meant Taehyun missed him, too. It did, right? They were flirting, right? He had really thought flirting with an ex would be much weirder and far more awkward than this, but as with everything else, Taehyun was the exception.

**Beomgyu:** i missed you too

**Taehyun:** I never said that

 **Beomgyu:** you’re not going to say it back? :(

The speech bubble indicating Taehyun was typing flickered for too long, but Beomgyu didn’t take his eyes off of them for a second, anticipating.

**Taehyun:** oh Beomgyu light of my life I don’t know how I made it through tonight without you, nothing was the same with you gone, and as we rang in the new year I couldn’t help but wish that you could be there with me. I missed you so, so much.  
**Taehyun:** are you happy now

**Beomgyu:** yes very

**Taehyun:** you’re not going to say it back? :(

**Beomgyu:** nope  
**Beomgyu:** good night!!

Beomgyu fell asleep with a stupidly large grin on his face.

With his filming schedule, Beomgyu only had one week of rehearsals before diving into day after never-ending day of filming. And on days when he wasn’t filming — mostly weekends — they were reserved for learning his lines, scheduling extra rehearsal sessions, or training at the stunt company studio.

He didn’t mind keeping busy — Beomgyu had meant what he’d said to Insong before, it felt good to be earning money, doing something he liked — the only downside of having a call time of 8 a.m. and ending his day well into the evening was it left him far too exhausted to do anything else. Yeonjun, Soobin and Taehyun had started school shortly after new years, which meant they weren’t available to make themselves, well, available whenever he was anymore.

And it seemed silly to think this now, after actively avoiding — Beomgyu still felt a twinge of guilt whenever he remembered — them for the past two years, but he missed them acutely. Perhaps it had something to do with knowing what it felt like to be without for so long to then suddenly be reminded of the easy acceptance and friendship they had.

Beomgyu laid in bed, after yet another 10 hour work day, phone cupped close to his ear, his eyes half closed, mumbling, “—went well. Director Oh said she’d let us do it next week, so when Joonghwa accidentally slips and I have a shiner the next time we meet, please don’t say anything.”

He heard Taehyun’s soft laughter on the other end, and despite feeling too tired to even open his mouth five seconds ago, Beomgyu smiled, too.

“And when you slip and give him a black eye?”

“My entire paycheck is going to be spent defending myself in court after he sues me. The floor was slippery, your honor, I didn’t punch his smug face on purpose, I swear,” Beomgyu mocked.

“You should be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” Beomgyu snorted, though it was muffled by his cheek pressed into his pillow. “I’m not actually going to punch him on purpose.”

“I mean don’t get hurt, you dumbass.”

He hummed, heart full. “Thank you, Hyunnie, don’t worry about that either.”

Beomgyu blamed his brain working a good five times slower than his mouth — the filter between the two completely obliterated by his drowsiness — for him using Taehyun’s old nickname and what he said next: “I’m gonna sleep now. Good night, I love you.”

There was a slight delay before Beomgyu registered what he’d just said, and even as the realization slowly dawned on him — as well as the horror — it was like his body couldn’t even muster up the panic-fueled adrenaline that would normally be coursing through him at a slip up this big. There was nothing but his slow breathing; he couldn’t even work up a blush. And as Beomgyu slowly felt himself lose consciousness, he wasn’t sure if it was just wishful thinking when he heard Taehyun’s low “love you, too.”

And for once when things were going well, when Beomgyu wished this moment in time could last forever, the weeks felt like they went by faster than they’d ever have. Before he knew it, January had nearly passed him by in blurs of rehearsals and filming and training, the only thing helping him keep track of the days before he fell off into blissful, dreamless slumber each night were the few precious moments when he talked to Taehyun — before he fell asleep, after he’d shed his worries and stress for the day.

“For someone who loves movies, I can’t believe you like ‘The Hunger Games.’ ”

“There will be no Hunger Games slander in my presence!” Beomgyu exclaimed to his darkened ceiling, lying flat on his back with his phone pressed to his ear.

“The books were better.”

Beomgyu gasped, which then morphed into a yawn, though he tried to play it off because he knew Taehyun was prone to ending their calls if he thought Beomgyu wasn’t getting enough sleep. “Okay, maybe, but you can’t deny that the idea of the Hunger Games is pretty cool.”

“The Games were a tool for a corrupt government to profit and punish the poor. Children kill each other?”

“Okay, but it’s fake, Hyunnie,” Beomgyu sulked, biting on his lip. “Which one of us would last the longest?”

“In the Games? Probably Yeonjun.”

“Not me?”

“Hyung, you hate bugs.”

“You have a point,” Beomgyu quickly acquiesced. “I think you would last a long time. Find somewhere to hide and just survive the longest.”

“Yeah, but then eventually comes the killing.”

“So what you’re saying is Yeonjun cold-blooded killer?”

Taehyun snorted. “Don’t ever let this get back to him; I just know you’re going to paint me in the worst light possible.”

“I would never slander you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beomgyu could almost hear him rolling his eyes. “Maybe Yeonjun would find some way to rebel; I don’t know.”

“Is he smart enough for that?”

“I think he’s motivated enough for that.”

“So what you’re saying is Yeonjun is dumb _and_ a killer.”

“I am done having this conversation with you.”

Beomgyu giggled, kicking his feet in his blankets out of pure joy before changing the subject and asking Taehyun about his day.

Sometimes the two of them would text, on days where Beomgyu could barely form words, lips chapped from saying his lines over and over again; sometimes they’d stay on the phone for hours, on days where Beomgyu couldn’t sleep because he was so hyped on nerves and excitement from the day even though his brain screamed at him to rest.

It was on nights like those that Beomgyu wanted to ask: “How long do I have to wait?” But he never did — he didn’t know if he had the right to. Actually, Beomgyu didn’t give voice to a lot of his thoughts, like “I miss you” and “you’re the best part of my day” and “I love you.” Yeah, especially not that last one. He never did figure out if Taehyun said it back, and he was definitely not going to ask. So now Beomgyu ended his calls with just “good night,” hanging up hastily before his sleep-muddled brain could betray him again.

The closest Beomgyu would let himself come to saying what he wanted to was: “I can’t wait to see you all again. It feels like it’s been ages.”

“Yeah,” Taehyun breathed on the other end. “It’s been awhile … not since Christmas.”

Beomgyu could hear his low, steady breathing, and he knew the other was sleepy, too. It was closing in on three in the morning, and he knew it was stupid to stay up because his call time was at nine the next day, but it was one of those nights where Beomgyu didn’t want to part — those happened more frequently than not.

“Wow, yeah.” In some ways it hadn’t felt like a month, because they talked every day. But the way Beomgyu’s heart sped up at the thought of seeing Taehyun again — in person — talking like they did on the phone but face to face, told him truthfully how much time had passed. “I’m going to show up and Yeonjun’s going to have a whole other hair color again.”

“Remember that time he showed up at school with blond hair?”

Beomgyu snickered. “It was a Wednesday, too, like he really just decided to do it in the middle of the week?”

“I can’t believe he didn’t get in trouble either.”

“Please, I’m pretty sure the class president had a crush on him, that’s why she let him get away with it.”

“Okay, but Mr. Lee, too?”

Beomgyu turned on his side and snuggled into his pillow. “He was everyone’s favorite; it wasn’t fair. If I showed up at school with bleached hair, I’m pretty sure I’d be suspended until I dyed it back.”

“Nah, you looked great,” Taehyun hummed, his voice taking on that sweet, adorable quality Beomgyu loved. “I’m sure Juhee would have let you keep it, too.”

Beomgyu grinned, secretly pleased. “Okay, but Mr. Lee hated me for sure.”

“Yeah, that’s because you decided to use his class as your personal nap time.”

“It was always right after lunch, what was I supposed to do?”

“Suffer with the rest of us,” Taehyun deadpanned. Beomgyu giggled.

“That’s not fair; I’m destined for greatness, you can’t expect me to be forced into the same standards as commoners.”

“Hmmm, is that so?” Taehyun teased. “Then you don’t need to talk to this commoner anymore, goo—”

“No, wait, come back!” Beomgyu let out a lively squeal. “I was just joking, I would never call you common!”

“I don’t know,” Taehyun trilled. “You kind of made it sound like you were better than the rest of us.”

“Of course not!” Beomgyu exclaimed, far too loudly for how late in the night it was. “You’re so amazing; I could never be better than you.”

Taehyun only hummed in response, but Beomgyu could tell he was smiling — he smiled too, his cheek pressing further into his pillow.

“It is getting late though, you have to work tomorrow — we should go.”

“But I don’t want to,” Beomgyu complained, even as his eyelids threatened to close.

“I have morning classes, too,” Taehyun added, ignoring Beomgyu’s protest. “Good night.”

“Fine,” Beomgyu said, though his tone begged to differ. “Good night, Hyunnie. See you on Sunday.”

Taehyun chuckled. “What do you mean? See you tomorrow night.”

──────

Smoke drifted across Beomgyu’s vision, bringing with it the smell of charred meat. It was hot under the bright lights and humid, too, from the crowd of bodies, making Beomgyu glad that he’d forgone his padded jacket tonight despite the brief chill after leaving his apartment.

Beomgyu peered over the packed crowd — some in simple street clothes, others decked out in their Lunar New Years best — trying to find his friends. It really shouldn’t be this hard: Soobin would easily be a head taller than everyone here. And unless Yeonjun decided to pull another junior year on them his blue— bingo. Spotting a head of brilliant blue hair, Beomgyu hastily raised his arm, careful not to elbow anyone in the process, shouting “Yeonjun-hyung!” repeatedly while flailing his arm.

A moment after they disappeared into the crowd, Yeonjun emerged again, closer, with a slouched-over Soobin in tow. “Hi!” Soobin squeaked, inching toward Beomgyu’s side to get out of the way of those walking. “Where’s Taehyun?”

Beomgyu shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m getting shit signal here; I can’t even text.”

Yeonjun frowned, “Me neither. Do you think he knows where we’re meeting?”

“He said ‘OK’ in the chat earlier, maybe he’s just running late,” Soobin said, straightening up to his full height so he could scan the crowd, too. “The train is packed right now.”

Beomgyu glanced at his lockscreen, it was ten or so minutes past their designated meet up time. “Maybe we should go closer to the station, and then we can call him?”

Yeonjun shook his head. “Nah, it’ll take forever to fight the crowd back that way. We might as well just wait here.”

“He said he’s coming from the temple so—” Beomgyu’s words were drowned out by an excited squeak from Soobin. “Oh, Hueningkai! Taehyun!”

Beomgyu immediately felt butterflies making a very unwelcome appearance in his stomach. Up until now, he’d allowed his job and the busy commute here to take up most of his brain space so he wouldn’t have to dwell on seeing Taehyun. It wouldn’t even be the first time since that talk, so why was he so nervous? They spoke every day; this wasn’t a big deal. There was no reason to feel like he was going to hurl the remains of his late lunch right fucking now, but despite thinking that, Beomgyu could feel his heart rate pick up as, first, Hueningkai’s curly head came into view and then—

Oh.

It was red.

Taehyun’s hair was red and Beomgyu could practically feel every single thought in his head fizzle to white noise.

“Hi, hyung!” Beomgyu was fairly sure Hueningkai was speaking to him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the mesmerizing crimson of Taehyun’s hair. It was styled out of his face today, too, framing his large eyes and high cheekbones — beautiful.

“Ha, thanks,” Taehyun said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. And Beomgyu couldn’t even be embarrassed that he’d said it out loud because oh, how it was true and oh, how he had pictured this exact smile each time he heard Taehyun laugh over the phone.

“OK now that we’re all here, let’s get some food; I’m so hungry,” Yeonjun whined, already tugging on Soobin’s jacket as the couple led the group back into the flow of the crowd. Whereas shops framed both sides of the wide street, vendors and food carts had staked out the middle strip, setting up makeshift tables for hurried customers in any available space, dividing the steady stream of foot traffic heading one way on the right and the other direction on the left like a median.

“Oh, do you think we can find wheel cakes here?” Hueningkai chirped, glancing eagerly at the signs of the carts posted around them.

“Let’s get some real food first. I smell ramen,” Yeonjun said, pointing further down the street.

As their general chatter dissolved into a good-natured argument about what to eat, Beomgyu eased next to Taehyun, shyly tugging on his sleeve to get his attention amidst the noise and lights. “You didn’t tell me you dyed your hair.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Taehyun grinned.

“It worked, I— it looks really good,” Beomgyu fumbled, having difficulty stringing his words together because wow, Taehyun was here and he was smiling at him and they were talking like it was normal and he had red hair and this was maybe the happiest moment of his life.

Beomgyu only caught the flash of teeth in the beginnings of a grin before Taehyun looked away, “Don’t let it get to your head, I just wanted to try something new. Red for good fortune, you know.”

“Yeah, okay,” Beomgyu said, nodding through a grin of his own.

The trio ahead of them had stopped, crowding around a food cart that they obviously settled on with great difficulty. Beomgyu peered over Yeonjun’s shoulder, standing on his tiptoes, “What are we having?”

After waiting around for about fifteen minutes half a table finally opened up for the five boys to cram themselves haphazardly in a semi-circle, hunched over their bowls. It had been silent for a good ten minutes as each of them concentrated on shoveling food in their mouths, but now, they were on the portion of the night where Beomgyu feared for Hueningkai’s life.

“Is it true you once jumped out the second floor window because you heard someone was going to confess to you?” Hueningkai asked, holding out the end of his chopsticks under Yeonjun’s nose like it was a mic and he was some hard-hitting reporter. Yeonjun didn’t respond because he was too busy shooting his boyfriend and Taehyun dark looks — trying to gauge which one of them looked guilty enough to have been the one to spill the beans.

When Yeonjun didn’t say anything, Hueningkai pressed on, “What about when you dropped ice cream on your uniform pants so you took Beomgyu’s without telling him and he had nothing to wear after—”

Beomgyu had been planning on looking the other way when Yeonjun inevitably jumped Hueningkai, but now that he was involved, he had to do something. Catching Yeonjun’s eye on the other side of Hueningkai, Beomgyu raised his eyebrows, hoping he would get the message.

“—and then Taehyun’s mom had to bring—” A few seconds later, both Yeonjun and Beomgyu attacked Hueningkai’s sides, successfully cutting him off, but not quite achieving the result they wanted.

“Joke’s on you two, I am— I’m not ticklish!” Hueningkai may have been able to pull off the bluff if not for the snort in the middle of his sentence followed by a shriek loud enough to cut through the general buzz of the crowd.

Beomgyu snatched his hands back as Hueningkai started to thrash, letting out a loud laugh of his own that had Soobin looking at the couple sharing the table with them apologetically.

“Nice try, Huening,” Beomgyu huffed, reaching over to jab a finger into Hueningkai’s side — which in turn caused the other boy to jump again. “Now, shut up.”

They soon abandoned their table after tossing out their trash, the general frenzy of the night market not allowing them to linger too long. As they walked, Beomgyu soaked up the lively atmosphere, allowing the animated ambiance to imbue him with an infectious sort of energy that had him hopping up and down with Soobin over a long-forgotten childhood snack one moment and forgetting himself and grabbing Taehyun’s hand to dart over to a cart selling fish cakes the next.

They were still holding hands as they got in line behind a family of three. Taehuyn’s palm was warm against Beomgyu’s as they shuffled towards the front of the line, and he used the distraction of ordering as an excuse to not let go. As the man behind the glass rang him up, Beomgyu steadied himself to disentangle from Taehyun’s grip. Before he could move though, Taehyun’s slim hand flashed over the partition to pay. The recent redhead smiled, “I owe you for the ice cream earlier.”

Neither of them acknowledged their clasped hands as they received their food and met back up with the others. But they also didn’t let go.

──────

Midnight came and went in the blink of an eye. One second, they were cheering Hueningkai on around a claw machine as he tried to get a wolf plushie, and the next they were seeing Yeonjun and Soobin off in a cab and waving goodbye to Hueningkai who had met up with his sister and were rushing, breathless, for the last train.

Maybe Taehyun, too, had been caught up in the blur of it all, because it wasn’t until the train doors had snapped shut behind them that he realized he’d gotten on the wrong one. “Oh, shit,” Taehyun muttered frowning up at the blinking lights indicating their next stations as if it had somehow personally wronged him.

“This is the last train,” Beomgyu said, as if either of them needed the reminder.

“It’s fine; I’ll just get a cab home at the next stop. Where are you getting off?”

On the list of stupid things Beomgyu had done — or even considered doing — this was probably going close to topping the list. But just like each time a dumb idea crossed his mind, he already knew he was going to do it anyway. “I’m three stops away. Do you want to just … stay over?” Instant regret. “It’s really late now and, um, cabs are expensive, and you don’t have morning classes tomorrow, right? So you could, like, instead of spending money on a taxi, you could come over and take the train back tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Beomgyu genuinely did not know what he’d expected. He looked over at Taehyun in surprise.

Taehyun laughed. “Why do you look so shocked? You offered!”

Away from the market, the streets from the station to Beomgyu’s apartment were unsurprisingly quiet — most shops were closed for the new years and anyone celebrating would usually be doing it at home with their families. The moon would be the only witness to Beomgyu’s unending stupidity tonight.

“Taehyun-ah, how long do I need to wait?”

Beomgyu was too scared to look at Taehyun’s reaction, but he heard the soft sigh, and could see the wisp of breath hang in the air out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know. I guess I keep waiting for a sign.”

“Like … a sign we should be together?”

“Something like that: A sign I shouldn’t be so afraid.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“Me neither.”

The night was so cold, but Beomgyu left his ungloved hand hanging next to him as they walked — not quite brave enough to breach the small gap between them. But god, he wanted to hold Taehyun’s hand again. Beomgyu’s eyes widened as he watched Taehyun’s hand inch closer. Closer? “Stop staring, you dumbass,” Taehyun smirked, as he linked his fingers with Beomgyu’s.

Beomgyu huffed out a small laugh, feeling the warmth spread from his palm to his chest. “When did you become the brave one?”

Taehyun’s eyes sparkled under the streetlights. “Since forever ago. Who do you think told Yeonjun to tell Soobin that someone was going to confess to me that day?”

It took a moment before Taehyun’s words sunk in. And then Beomgyu gasped, too loud for this late at night in a secluded neighborhood. “You knew I liked you?”

And when Taehyun’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he let out a laugh loud enough to rival Beomgyu’s gasp, Beomgyu knew for sure once more — he was in love.

“We all did. I kept waiting for you to say something, but you just kept staring at me with your big puppy eyes, and so I got tired of waiting.”

“And Yeonjun was in on it?”

“Soobin, too.”

“You all set me up! So no one was actually going to confess to you that day?”

“I mean, someone did,” Taehyun said, glancing over at him with a smug smile.

Beomgyu huffed, stewing with that information for a second. “How long did you know I liked you, before I asked you out?”

Taehyun glanced up at the sky, his lips pursed in thought — there wasn’t much to look at, the lights of the city drowning out any stars that may have been out there. “Probably as soon as we met.”

Beomgyu only realized he’d stopped walking when he felt a light tug on his right hand. He allowed Taehyun to coax him back to their slow pace. “As soon as we met?!”

“Yeah, at first I didn’t really have any intentions of returning your feelings. I was flattered, but you were kind of annoying.”

“I—” Beomgu sputtered, indignant and slightly embarrassed.

“But you were so persistent and very cute; you wore me down, hyung.”

“I don’t know how to feel about this,” Beomgyu mumbled, though now that he thought about it, he really shouldn’t have been surprised that Taehyun had seen through him immediately.

“For what it’s worth, I liked you, too, by then.”

Beomgyu sniffed, channeling his embarrassment into indignation: “I sure hope so! We dated for three years!”

“We sure did,” Taehyun hummed, a fond smile on his face even as Beomgyu turned away in shame. Three years, and how had he ended it? At a bus stop on a whim? No wonder Taehyun was scared.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked before. I’ll wait for you so…” Beomgyu trailed off, not quite knowing how to end his sentence. But that was okay, because it seemed Taehyun understood.

“Thank you.”

Beomgyu’s apartment was once more pitch black when they entered. The Christmas lights in the apartment across from his had long ago come down — his neighbors probably the only ones on the planet to take down their decorations in a timely manner — but even in the darkness, Beomgyu no longer felt bereft. He wasn’t alone.

“I’ll get you blankets and a pillow,” Beomgyu said, flicking on the lights in his hallway and then his living room. He perked up, “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Do you have work tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Beomgyu’s reply was slightly muffled from under the thick duvet and pillow he was carrying out from his bedroom. He unceremoniously dumped them on the sofa.

“What time?” Taehyun reached around Beomgyu to throw the pillow to one end of the couch.

“My call time is nine, so not too bad.”

“Hyung, it’s almost two,” Taehyun provided, ever practical.

“Hmmm, it’s okay, I’m not that tired.” That was a lie — he’d been up since seven and had spent a good nine hours on set before coming home, showering, and then rushing to meet them. But now that Taehyun was here, he was like an excitable child at their first sleepover — he didn’t want the night to end yet. “We’re just rehearsing tomorrow anyways.”

Taehyun sat down on the sofa, tucking one end of the duvet around him, sighing like he knew Beomgyu was just going to do what he wanted to anyway. “Okay, but then we sleep after the movie.”

Beomgyu immediately brightened, agreeing quickly before turning off the living room lights so only a faint glow came in from the hallway and clambered on the sofa next to Taehyun.

“What should we watch?” He flicked on his TV, switching over to the movies on demand. “Oh wait, this!” Beomgyu glanced over to check if Taehyun liked his selection only to see that he'd slumped completely into the cushions, his head resting comfortably on the back of the couch.

“Hyunnie, are you tired?”

“No, I want to watch; I’m good with this one.”

“Okay!” Beomgyu beamed, before setting the movie to play. As the opening credits started, filling the room with a piercing glare, and the narrator started in on something about dirt or space, Beomgyu heard more than saw Taehyun moving along the back of the couch before feeling the substantial weight of a head against his shoulder. He stayed still even as his heart thumped madly in his chest, a stupidly large smile on his face before it morphed into a wide yawn.

The next thing Beomgyu knew, he was opening his eyes to Taehyun peering over him and the gentle weight of a hand on his head. Taehyun’s thumb was brushing softly over his forehead. “The movie is over; it’s time for bed.”

Beomgyu scrunched his nose. He was lying on Taehyun’s lap, or, well, lying on a thick layer of duvet that also happened to be on his lap. He must have fallen asleep part way through the movie, and Taehyun had deemed his head too heavy to support.

“Did you like it?” Beomgyu asked, instinctively leaning into Taehyun’s palm. He felt groggy, and in his half-asleep state his living room, filled with the flickering low light of the TV, seemed to exist in another dimension — Taehyun was here, so perhaps it actually was.

“Yeah, it kind of blew my mind.” Taehyun’s thumb resumed its movements.

“Good, you never liked the movies I picked out.”

“But at least I watched them.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu sighed. “Thank you, Hyunnie.”

A sobering thought yanked Beomgyu out from his drowsiness: “You were always so good to me — I’m sorry.”

Taehyun stayed silent, so Beomgyu allowed the comforting, rhythmic pressure on his forehead to lull his eyelids into drooping again. That was until Taehyun spoke, “There’s really no point in making you wait is there?”

Beomgyu’s eyes flew open — if this kept happening he was going to get the brain equivalent of whiplash. His eyes flicked up towards Taehyun, but the other boy had leaned his head against the back of the couch like before. Beomgyu couldn’t see his expression and it made him nervous. No point in waiting like— it would never happen?

Taehyun’s hand on his head stilled; Beomgyu held his breath.

“It’s stupid to wait,” Taehyun muttered up at the ceiling before tilting his head down to meet Beomgyu’s eyes. But the room was too dark for Beomgyu to see all that well. “I don’t even know what I’m waiting for. A sign? I think I’m just trying to protect myself, but it’s pointless, because my heart’s already in it.”

That was … that was good, right? Beomgyu didn’t allow himself to continue that train of thought. If this wasn’t what he thought it was, well, he’d long ago known that coming back out of this with his heart intact was impossible.

“Don’t frown,” Taehyun whispered. “Let’s be together. Hell, let’s date — again.”

Maybe he had entered an alternate dimension. Sometime while he was asleep he’d slipped into another space-time continuum because no way, no way did the Beomgyu in this timeline deserve this kind of providence. Beomgyu quickly shut his eyes. Maybe if he counted to ten he’d wake back up. Before he’d even gotten to three though, Taehyun’s annoyed voice rang out above him, “Are you trying to go back to sleep? Don’t ignore me, asshole, I said go out with me.”

Beomgyu’s eyes opened on a burst of laughter, a slow-blooming delight unfurling in his chest. “Really?” he asked, starry-eyed.

He could see Taehyun’s wide smile cast in the remaining light from the TV. “Yeah.”

“But—” And Beomgyu could not believe he was saying this, and maybe tomorrow’s Beomgyu would roundly curse the version of himself tonight for this, but he would never get rid of the nagging, horrible, guilty feeling in the back of his mind if he didn’t— “but I don’t want you to be with me if you’re scared.”

“Then prove to me that I shouldn’t be.”

Taehyun’s ultimatum. Was it really this simple? “Okay,” Beomgyu agreed. Beomgyu pushed against the sofa cushions to sit up, suddenly invigorated. “Okay, I won’t—”

“Don’t make me any promises,” Taehyun said holding his hand up. His words may have seemed harsh, and maybe he realized that, because he moved his hand to gently brush Beomgyu’s askew bangs aside. “You can say anything you want now, but, just … show me you won’t hurt me again.”

“Okay, yeah,” Beomgyu bit his lip. Push and pull: it was his turn to be brave. “Okay, I will.”

And if he was set on being brave, then he might as well start now, right? “Does this mean I can kiss you now?”

Taehyun laughed, pulling Beomgyu closer with his hand in his hair, “Yes, you can.”

Beomgyu’s smile was brilliant as he leaned in, head tilting — because of course they’d figured all this out years ago. And when their lips touched, it was heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally got to my favorite part: the fluff! my friend said that reading the cute taegyu moments after seeing beomgyu sad for three straight chapters was euphoric and that probably also sums up exactly how beomgyu feels. so they're together again yay!! but of course i can't let it end here, we've got one more chapter to go hehe 
> 
> thank you so much if you've read this far and decided to endure with beomgyu through 40k words! as always feel free to come talk to me on [twt](http://twitter.com/suwubins) or in my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/suwubin)!


	5. V.

There were many ways in which Taehyun was an enigma to Beomgyu: He was always number one in memorization in class, but could never remember the bus routes around the city; he disliked sugary, processed foods, but could eat two traffic-light popsicles in the time it took Beomgyu to finish one; he was sociable and athletic and smart, but never seemed to associate with more than a smattering of friends.

But perhaps the most enigmatic of his traits: Taehyun was clingy.

When they started dating, Beomgyu had steeled himself to be the self-assigned needy one. That had been the way their friendship had formed: Beomgyu would ask, and ask, and ask again until Taehyun finally concurred with a pleased grin and twinkling eyes. But if Beomgyu was all eager smiles and pestering invitations, Taehyun was the gentle curve of linked arms, a good morning text as routine as the creeping rays of sunlight each dawn, a tentative glance seeking reassurance whenever he thought he had rebuffed Beomgyu a bit too harshly.

Contrary to first impressions, Taehyun cared — deeply, and he was exceedingly patient and kind. It was a consistency Beomgyu had missed, and lamentably, had come to take for granted years ago. Now, he savored every message from Taehyun — sent quickly and as soonest as he could, Beomgyu knew — and basked in the warm cocoon of his voice each night and allowed it to lull him to sleep even as he wished to stay awake for one, five, thirty more minutes.

The moments they could meet in person were brief and stolen: A hurried lunch on campus before Beomgyu had to leave for set, late at night after work when Taehyun could spare time between studying, the occasional, glorious weekend day when Taehyun didn’t have exams or big assignments and Beomgyu didn’t have training or an early call time the next morning. More often than not, Beomgyu’s greetings turned into apologies — “sorry I’m late” or “sorry I can only stay for an hour” or the dreaded “sorry I can’t make it.” Taehyun met it all with grace.

Ironically, they were busier than they had ever been — a regrettable side-effect of broadening horizons and the inevitable arrival of adulthood — but Beomgyu was only filled with hope. It was a determined, reverberating optimism that tied him over until they could next meet. He feared it wouldn’t last. He buried that worry under the fresh wonder of Taehyun’s toothy smile and the hoodies and shirts he purposefully left tucked in a corner of Beomgyu’s closet.

The days were getting longer now, as they emerged out of the frigid cold winter months, and the sky was a deep orange when Beomgyu arrived at the university bus stop. He’d been here twice, and as he slipped onto campus through a side gate, Beomgyu hoped he could remember where Taehyun’s lecture hall was. Ultimately, it was a good thing he’d arrived early, because it took one wrong building and stopping to ask a pair of giggling girls to find the correct room.

The halls were relatively empty, either due to the late hour or the late lectures still happening behind closed doors that forewarned anyone from making too much noise outside, but Beomgyu didn’t see anyone else as he pressed his back against the bumpy wall across from Taehyun’s room. His eyes wandered, drifting across the hall to the fire hydrant strapped to a pipe — which seemed kind of hazardous to him — with its paint peeling on the side. Unable to keep still for long, his foot tapped the rhythm of some fast-paced song they’d warmed up with at the training studio this morning. Beomgyu’s hands fidgeted with the flowers he was holding.

He simultaneously wished for time to slow down so he could play over and over the rehearsed lines he’d thought of — far less confident in his ability to deliver them because, of course, he’d come up with this script himself — and for the clock to move faster, so he wouldn’t have to stew in his own nervousness. Beomgyu jerked his head towards the lecture hall when a swelling of noise on the other side of the door signaled the end of class. Soon enough, one, two, then a group of students were dutifully filing out. Most of them were silent and on their phones, only a few of them in pairs, chatting.

Both Beomgyu’s height and Taehyun’s brilliant, red hair worked to his advantage when he quickly found his boyfriend exiting the hall. He had his head bent low, Beomgyu couldn’t see his face — perfect. Hurrying forward, dodging a couple students, Beomgyu gleefully placed the flowers straight under Taehyun’s nose, overtop the phone he had been using. Taehyun’s abrupt stop and wide eyes as he glanced up were gratifying, but nothing was as satisfying as his all-consuming smile, that is, until he said Beomgyu’s name.

Momentarily stunned speechless by Taehyun’s delighted surprise, Beomgyu’s scrambled brain only managed to hurry out, “Congrats on finishing your midterms— happy hundred days!”

Taehyun’s eyes were nearly overtaken by his grin as he reached out, phone forgotten and flowers temporarily ignored in favor of hugging his boyfriend. Beomgyu quickly pressed his still slightly-chilled cheek against Taehyun’s neck, the only way he could return the embrace.

“Thank you, hyung.” Beomgyu felt more than heard Taehyun whisper against his temple.

“Didn’t you have work tonight?” Taehyun asked as they pulled apart and he gingerly accepted the flowers.

“I did but— it’s fine. I finished early and wanted to come see you.”

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble? I don’t want you to get fired because of me,” Taehyun teased as he tucked his phone in his back pocket and the couple started walking back down the hallway.

“I won’t get _fired_ — I think. It’s fine, Hyunnie, I couldn’t miss our anniversary a second time.”

“I would have understood,” Taehyun said, though the tender smile as he looked down at the bouquet now tucked against the crook of his arm belied his insistence that the gesture hadn’t been necessary.

“I know, but I would still feel so bad.”

“I remember,” Taehyun giggled. “You kept apologizing last time and wouldn’t stop until I let you serenade me.”

“You got me a _guitar_ , and I didn’t have anything prepared yet because I thought it was the next week.”

Taehyun hooked his free arm around Beomgyu’s as they exited the building. Beomgyu was grateful for the additional warmth against his side — the evening, early-spring air was still too chilly for his taste.

“I think when I saw you playing that guitar on New Years, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold out.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose!”

“I know— I’m glad you still have it.”

“I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” Beomgyu had tucked it in the back of his closet — out of sight — but like how he’d kept Taehyun’s contact in his phone, he never had the heart to toss it.

Immediately after they had started dating again, nearly four months ago now, Beomgyu had been eager to soak up any and all details Taehyun imparted of their time apart, able to withstand thinking of those years only now that they were together again. Taehyun usually skipped over the messy, initial months when he had been bitter and resentful. But he talked about meeting Hueningkai, starting school, his classes, an internship — things that had been so terrifying to Beomgyu back then because they’d all threatened to take Taehyun away from him. In hindsight, listening to Taehyun complain yet again about a useless T.A. for his engineering class, he knew how stupid that was now.

Beomgyu felt a light tug on his left arm, the arm that was linked with Taehyun’s, as his boyfriend suddenly let go and swung in front of him, halting them both on the university pathway. “You know, you can’t just sing to me whenever you mess up.”

“I said I didn’t do it on purpose, Hyunnie,” Beomgyu smirked. “Maybe just try harder to not be so in love with me.”

They were standing just a foot apart, Taehyun not leaving much room when he had cut Beomgyu off. And under the faint glow of the street lamps on either side of them, Beomgyu could see the lashes framing his eyes and the subtle dimple on the left side of Taehyun’s face as he tried to hold back a smile. Naturally, Beomgyu leaned in, his own eyelashes fluttering low— which was why he was surprised when a cool wind blew against his cheek and the next thing he knew his eyes were flying open and Taehyun had relinked their arms, snuggling into his side. Beomgyu pouted all the way to the bus stop.

──────

“Does this mean nothing to you, Beomgyu-ssi?”

Beomgyu stood stock-still. He wanted to look away but he knew that it would only make it worse. So he stared, straight into Hyerim’s eyes as she continued. “Do you even take this seriously? Do you understand your responsibilities here?”

Scared of interrupting her, Beomgyu allowed the pause between them to remain just long enough to make it seem like he was insincere. “I understand.” He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't — that was clear, because the derision in Hyerim’s gaze only grew stronger.

“Do you, really? Then where were you last night? I thought I could trust you. Maybe not on set, where you clearly still need the most minute of directions, but at least I thought you had your priorities right.”

Beomgyu didn’t flinch at her dig at his acting, allowing that particular shot to rip through his skin cleanly, burying itself into his chest, left there to be addressed, to be ripped out and the wound tended to later.

When it was clear he wasn’t going to speak, Hyerim raised her brows, sitting back down in her chair. Her voice was calmer now, but it still didn’t mask her disdain, “So, where were you?”

“It was my and my boyfriend’s anniversary yester—”

“Ah, so you skipped rehearsal because of a _lover_ ,” Hyerim sneered, her eyes narrowing.

At this, Beomgyu did flinch. He didn’t want her anywhere near Taehyun. But she was waiting for an answer: “Yes.”

He should have seen the signs. He really shouldn’t have been so stupid as to believe Joonghwa. “She’s a pain to deal with in person for these things, but she likes me. You should go, and I’ll tell her you couldn’t make it and something came up,” Joonghwa had said, all smiles and assertive nods. “Besides, what are you going to do if she says no?” And like an idiot, Beomgyu had only heard what he wanted to — had so easily believed Joonghwa when everything he knew about Hyerim told him that it wouldn’t be okay.

But maybe he was just trying to place the blame on anyone else right now, as Hyerim continued to stare him down. Beomgyu clenched his jaw when she sighed and finally spoke again, “Young love — it’s not worth throwing everything away for, Beomgyu-ssi. ‘How do you know?’ ” Hyerim snickered. “ ‘We’re different,’ you might think. But in five years when you two have broken up and you’re still struggling to find work, you’re going to feel very differently.”

Beomgyu willed his mind blank, he compelled Hyerim’s words to filter in one ear and out the next, not willing to allow them to pierce him like before. He wouldn’t think about what she was saying; he wouldn’t give credence to his long-buried fears.

Hyerim sighed again, her anger seeming to have dispelled as quickly as it had arrived, but Beomgyu sensed that what was coming would be far worse. “I’m not saying this out of spite, Beomgyu-ssi, just experience. My young love convinced me that I wasn’t fit to direct, that I would be a much more successful writer. And then he stole my script, sold it to a studio from right under my nose. And you might think that has made me jaded, but I’ve since had many good relationships, which is why I know none of it compares to _this_.” Hyerim waved her hand around the set, empty as the cast and crew were still lingering in the break room and in hair and makeup. Thankfully, they were without an audience. “I’m disappointed.”

And he knew what she meant. Ever since their first conversation on that balcony, she had always shown a single-minded dedication to exploring her story, these characters, and to, like she said, make them messy. Every direction she’d given on set, every choice and rewrite of the script she’d made had been an artistic revelation. He couldn’t forget the electric excitement that had coursed through him that day when she asked _“Can I count on you?”_ because yes, he wanted to do this; yes, he wanted to do this with her.

It was easier to face Hyerim and forget all that when she was furious; it was much easier to hate her, to decide that this wasn’t worth it, to bolster his own erroneous choice last night when she was being spiteful. It was far harder to look her in the eye and stay resilient when she was staring at him with a mix of pity and defeat. Beomgyu swallowed thickly, holding back a cough, not realizing how dry his throat had gotten. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I hope so, Beomgyu-ssi,” Hyerim nodded, as if deciding to set this aside, closing the book shut on their conversation. “We still have a lot of work to do.”

Leaving the set, Beomgyu heard Joonghwa’s voice boom from behind the break room doors and he automatically knew he couldn’t go in there right now. It wasn’t so much that he felt betrayed, but he was far too much of a live wire right now to be thrown straight into another confrontation. So he settled on an empty stairwell that led down to the basement parking lot to stew for the next forty-five minutes until he had to be on set.

He hadn’t settled in for long before he heard the click of a door opening above him. Beomgyu tensed, willing the person to go away, but, of course, there was nowhere else for them to go. Beomgyu felt shock travel through his system as the familiar heart-shaped face of Mihwan appeared overhead. Absently, almost distantly, he remembered an article he had read about their casting months ago, “cherubic” they had called her.

“Ah, hiding, are we?”

But over the past few months he had come to learn that was the only angelic thing about her. Beomgyu’s eyebrows furrowed even as his mouth twisted into a friendly half-smirk. “How is it you always manage to hear about everything?”

Mihwan rested her hip against the metal railing a few steps up from where Beomgyu was leaning against the wall. “I’m flattered you think I’m able to find out about rumors so fast, but I actually didn’t get this from the grapevine,” she giggled. “Kind of a bad time to have forgotten my charger on set, huh?”

She continued, pointing an accusing finger at Beomgyu, “Plus, the fact you weren’t at rehearsals last night was kind of a dead give away she would be pissed at you today; are you stupid?”

Beomgyu maybe would have gotten offended if he hadn’t just been on the receiving end of Hyerim’s vehemence, or if Mihwan’s cattiness and general propensity for gossip hadn’t somehow endeared her to him unawares. “Evidently, yes,” he snorted, not quite keeping the bitterness from his tone but at least able to laugh at his own expense now.

“Didn’t I tell you to get her to like you?”

“I’m kind of more concerned about if my boyfriend likes me.”

“Clearly,” Mihwan rolled her eyes. “But at least be smart about it instead of blowing off rehearsals without a word.”

“Joonghwa said he would tell her,” Beomgyu scowled — partly because saying it out loud now only made it all the more clear how doubly dumb he’d been.

“Oh god.” If Mihwan rolled her eyes one more time Beomgyu would not be responsible for shoving her down these stairs. “And let me guess, he didn’t?”

Beomgyu shrugged, scowling again, “Probably not.”

She sighed. “Not that having _him_ tell _her_ would make things a lot better either,” Mihwan paused, biting her lip. “Hey, remember Daehyun?”

“Park Daehyun?” It had been ages since he’d thought of that name, though it wasn’t hard to pull up his face. He’d starred in Hyerim’s previous drama — was now guest-hosting a reality show. Beomgyu only knew because ads for it had been all over the subway a few months ago.

“Yeah, him; the reason why he didn’t get invited back is because of Joonghwa.”

“What happened?”

Mihwan shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.”

“What? He got him fired?”

“Not fired,” Mihwan scoffed. “He finished out his contract perfectly fine. But let’s just say he was this close to ousting Joonghwa as Hyerim’s favorite — anyone could tell. And I guess, Joong wasn’t okay with that, if you know what I mean.”

Beomgyu really wished he didn’t, but a mild disgust starting to form in the back of his throat told him that whatever assumptions he was making were probably right. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’m not trying to be unemployed.”

“So why are you down here?”

“Because I’m _such_ a good friend.”

Beomgyu couldn’t help but laugh.

──────

“Hyunnie, what if we don’t go?”

He heard the thud of ceramic in the sink coming from the kitchen around the corner before Taehyun’s exasperated voice followed, “Hyung, this is your premiere, we can’t not go.”

“It’s technically just a reception,” Beomgyu mumbled, pushing the leftover rice around in his bowl.

A chuckle announced Taehyun’s return to the shared dining and living room area of his apartment. “How did I know you’d be pouting?”

“Is it working?”

Taehyun ignored his boyfriend, instead reaching over to squish his cheeks, which, as always, made Beomgyu’s pout disappear as he giggled and pulled away. “Why don’t you want to go tonight?” Taehyun asked. “Is it because of that article?”

Beomgyu scrunched up his nose. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, had heard from Seungbin that “the only things you should read are what Insong sends you and if you see yourself trending on Naver or Twitter,” but, of course, he hadn’t listened.

After the pilot episode had aired last night and after Soobin, Yeonjun, and Hueningkai — who had so easily slipped into his life by way of being Soobin’s friend and Taehyun’s roommate — had left his apartment, Taehyun had went to go get ready for bed, and Beomgyu couldn’t resist, not when his phone was _right there_. His initial resistance had faded as he scrolled the search engine, unused to seeing his own face under a magnifying glass like this, but then Beomgyu came across it.

Coming out of the shower, Taehyun had found him curled under a blanket, folded into one side of the couch, his phone inches from his face — frowning. One look at his screen had easily explained why: _“While Choi Beomgyu’s portrayal of Seokhwan, a largely shadowed and troubled boy, in the first episode could be described as striking, the character fails to make its, clearly, intended impact in the long run. Instead, Seokhwan’s introduction relies heavily on the explosive, and unexpected, action shoe-horned into the second half of the pilot in order to bolster — or perhaps mask — an unsteady performance.”_

Taehyun, ever sensitive to Beomgyu’s moods, had slipped the phone out of his grip rather easily, peppered kisses on his face, and murmured a soft, “You know that’s bullshit, right? Let’s go to sleep.”

Needless to say, Taehyun had become the unofficial guardian of Beomgyu’s phone since.

“It’s not that …” Beomgyu trailed off, unable to explain to his boyfriend that the people he worked with were actually quite awful and nothing like he had expected and that the idea of allowing Taehyun to meet them ranked lower on the totem pole of ‘things I don’t want’ than getting food poisoning or being run over by a bicycle.

He had regretted asking Taehyun to come with him almost immediately. It had been during a brief moment of weakness, one where he remembered Hyerim’s disdain and Joonghwa’s cold laugh and Mihwan’s shallow denials while wrapped around Taehyun and playing with the redhead’s bangs — a safe haven he’d wanted to keep for himself.

It’d been selfish of him to ask — and it had been selfless of Taehyun to say yes. Beomgyu knew he was probably putting off assignments and projects to come with him tonight. “I feel bad that I’m taking up your time.”

Taehyun scoffed, shooing away Beomgyu’s hands that had been idly playing with his chopsticks on the table. As soon as Beomgyu lowered his arms, he felt Taehyun settle sideways on his lap, squishing his cheeks again to punctuate each word: “You- are- not- an- inconvenience. Stop pouting.”

Grinning, Beomgyu tried to wiggle his face out from Taehyun’s grasp, letting out a short laugh when he refused to let go. He could feel heat rising high on his cheeks. Taehyun’s palms were warm on his face, “Hyung, I want to go.”

Thankful, but too shy to form words of appreciation, Beomgyu leaned forward to kiss his boyfriend instead, once more allowing Taehyun’s presence to soothe his worries and quiet the nervous thrumming in his chest that told him this was going to go horribly wrong.

Taehyun pulled away too soon for his liking, but blushing now, too, like an angel from a Renaissance painting. “Okay, no more stalling, time to get ready.”

Beomgyu somehow managed to make it through the first hour of the reception with Taehyun’s hand firmly anchored in his. Hyerim’s apartment was exactly like every single Seoul high-rise penthouse Beomgyu had ever imagined: High ceilings, large windows, a curved staircase, and furniture that looked far too expensive to be in such close proximity to so many glasses of red wine. The candelabras — “They’re real,” Taehyun had whispered to him when they first entered — mounted around the spacious room would have maybe felt like overkill if it didn’t go with the general extravagance of the whole place.

The reception was a private affair: Friends and family of the cast, a few other big names in the industry and selected press — but strictly no interviews. It was just like Hyerim to try to mystify herself. Her receptions were discreet, but they were simultaneously notorious and widely discussed, even in the fringe circles Beomgyu had occupied until quite recently. Despite his reluctance to come tonight, there was something thrilling about being _in_ , a part of him, no matter how small, buying into the exclusivity.

Beomgyu had slowly allowed himself to relax as they meandered through celebratory speeches and a few words from each of the cast members. Snippets of early reviews were read out by some of the staff and crew — all positive, of course — and wine and champagne flowed freely. It was a bona fide self-congratulatory ego boost. Nothing out of the ordinary.

As everyone’s glasses were once again topped off following the final toast — Beomgyu had gone through two already even after taking small sips per salute — the crowd started breaking off into small groups, and he could feel his grip tightening in Taehyun’s hand. He’d tried not to show his agitation, but Beomgyu couldn’t help but seek comfort from the only person here who truly put him at ease. He hoped Taehyun wouldn’t notice.

“Beomgyu-ssi,” a sing-song voice rang out from his left. Beomgyu was inwardly grateful that it was just Mihwan. “Who’s this?” she asked, nodding towards Taehyun.

He didn’t know how he made it through introductions without stuttering. What was wrong with him today? Why did this reception feel like such a big deal? It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten yelled at before — his parents, his teachers, hell, the local police officer in Daegu who caught him trying to hop the railroad tracks that one time. And despite his wariness and animosity towards Joonghwa now, maybe Beomgyu could have gotten over all of the awkwardness and tension if Taehyun wasn’t here. Something about this part of his life felt too forced, too disingenuous to share with him.

Taehyun was too good for this.

Which was why it was a bit surreal to see him reaching out his hand and Mihwan mirroring him to take it. Beomgyu was filled with the visceral urge to feign an excuse and whisk Taehyun away from here so they could maybe go pick up snacks before going home and spending a rare cozy evening on the couch. He was already halfway through forming an escape plan when he realized Mihwan had started speaking again.

“Beomgyu said you’re a student. Have you ever considered acting?” Beomgyu was starting to reconsider why he had thought Mihwan would be the least offensive person to talk to tonight.

“No, that’s Beomgyu’s thing more than mine.”

“Oh, but you’re, like, very handsome. You could easily find a company and—”

“Mihwan, why are you flirting with my boyfriend?” Beomgyu laughed, hoping it didn’t come off as fake as it felt.

“Hmmm?” Her eyes darted from Taehyun’s face to his. “I’m just saying, if Taehyun-ssi was famous, you two could really become a new it couple.”

Something in Beomgyu instinctively recoiled at that thought, that review once more creeping from his hindbrain to scream _you’re not good enough!_ at a ferocious volume. He barely held himself back from flinching. It was abhorrent to think about anyone talking — thinking — about Taehyun in that way. He would do nothing to deserve it either. Taehyun wasn’t fragile, but easily broken, delicate things weren’t the only ones worth protecting.

“No offense, but that sounds really awful,” Taehyun chuckled.

“What’s so bad about being famous? Don’t you feel lucky that your boyfriend’s a celebrity?” Mihwan teased, her question making Beomgyu seize up with embarrassment. As if being flustered was a life or death situation, Beomgyu’s instinct for fight or flight immediately kicked in. Maybe he could feign a really bad stomach ache from that awful foie gras that had been foisted on them when they entered and he could make a run for it—

“Yes, I’m very lucky.”

Beomgyu felt his heart thump, once, very hard in his chest, his eyes flying to Taehyun’s profile. And all he could do was stare at his boyfriend with veritable hearts in his eyes.

“Beomgyu really is a dream.”

Heat creeped up on his cheeks, though he tried his hardest to will it away. Beomgyu did not need Mihwan to see him fawning over his boyfriend. She was the type that would never shut up about it.

“Ooh,” Mihwan tittered. Oh, too late. Beomgyu wanted to disappear; he wouldn’t even mind a real stomach ache at this point. “Aren’t the two of you just so cute, _definitely_ it-couple material. You should think about what I said, Taehyun-ssi.” And with that and a parting wiggle of her fingers, Mihwan flitted off, in search of her next victims.

Beomgyu sighed; Taehyun’s gentle squeeze of their still intertwined hands bringing his head back up. “Hah, you didn’t have to say that, Taehyun-ah,” he tried to brush off his slightly pink-tinged cheeks.

“Hyung, what’s wrong?” Taehyun’s eyes were large and luminescent, so entrancing that Beomgyu remembered why it had been the reason he’d developed his silly, initial crush in the first place. But now Taehyun’s brows gently hooded them, and he was staring at Beomgyu with concern.

“Oh, nothing, sorry Mihwan’s kind of ... shameless.”

Taehyun snorted, not looking convinced but he must have been willing to let it slide, because he no longer fixed those inquiring, all-seeing eyes on him. “It’s fine; she was nice.”

Beomgyu nodded, feeling that unfamiliar sense of dread and doom creeping up on him again now that he no longer had speeches and Mihwan and a full glass of wine glass to distract him.

He felt a firm pressure against his palm again. “Hyung, I meant what I said.”

Beomgyu smiled, at peace for just a moment. That feeling quickly dissipated when he spotted Joonghwa in the crowd, speaking to a few others, including Hyerim, of course. Beomgyu didn’t want to be caught up in a conversation with them — not when he was still angry that Joonghwa had set him up, not when he was still feeling guilty because it was his own fault to begin with, not when he was torn about what Mihwan had said about Daehyun, not when he was still feeling raw and shamed and bitter about his exchange with Hyerim. Not when Taehyun didn’t know about any of that, and he didn’t want him to.

He tugged on Taehyun’s hand and headed in the opposite direction, towards the large windows of the apartment and where servers and a few people he didn’t recognize were milling.

“I’m glad we ate before we came,” Taehyun commented, as they passed a server carrying what looked like orbs of bright green jelly in small dishes.

Beomgyu chuckled, letting his guard down as they got further and further from the group. The next hour or so passed pleasantly like this: With a few producers and staff and probably reporters rotating around the couple, passing on congratulatory messages to Beomgyu, commenting on the episode, chatting about idle, useless things. Taehyun laughed on cue and Beomgyu met words of praise with thanks — everything felt trite and synthetic, but at least that, Beomgyu could handle.

Wonjun left the couple, following a tray of what looked like crab cakes around the room. Glancing at his boyfriend, Beomgyu caught Taehyun in a yawn, his face immediately softening now that it was just them. “We can probably go soon, Hyunnie.”

Taehyun waved him off, even as he tried to stifle yet another yawn with the back of his hand. “No, no, I’m not tired. You probably have to stay until everyone else leaves.”

Beomgyu hated that he was right. He sidled close to Taehyun, tucked in close to the windows, though it was too bright inside and too dark out there for them to see anything besides their own reflections, whispering, “This place is huge. We can find a room to nap.” He was only half-joking.

Taehyun’s teeth flashed in a smile, its pointed edges catching the glow from a candelabra nearby. “Now you’re really just asking to be fired.”

Beomgyu pressed his lips together in a closed-mouth smile. “No one would leave the party; they won’t find us.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Joonghwa’s voice, booming compared to their hushed giggles and faint murmurs sent a shock through Beomgyu’s system.

He hadn’t even realized how close he and Taehyun had bent towards each other until he felt himself jerk straight up at the interruption. Beomgyu saw a few other members of the cast behind Joonghwa, chatting still. Amidst all the shuffling, they’d somehow stumbled across Beomgyu’s worse-case scenario.

Beomgyu didn’t want to feel indebted to Joonghwa — not even a little bit. Mihwan hadn’t gone into specifics, but Beomgyu could guess at the tactics he’d employed to oust Daehyun from any other roles. Just knowing that had already made Beomgyu slightly nauseous. He wasn’t naive, he would like to think, he just had morals. Furthermore, that also inadvertently meant he’d gotten this role, but— he stopped his train of thought, preferring to loop back to _I don’t want to owe him anything._ Maybe if he repeated that enough times he would be able to drown out the far darker, more sinister thought of _I only got this role because of him._

As if noticing Beomgyu’s turmoil, Taehyun spoke, “No, we were just discussing the benefits of foie gras.”

Joonghwa seemed to stop short at that, clearly not prepared to talk goose liver. Beomgyu wanted to laugh and kiss Taehyun both at the same time. Gifted a brief moment to get it the hell together, Beomgyu shook his head to temporarily dispel the doubts clouding his mind — it would do no good to show Joonghwa that he knew anything. The two had spoken, briefly, after, where Joonghwa had apologized profusely for not being able to convince Hyerim of a believable lie, and Beomgyu had brushed him off, feeling bile in the back of his throat all the while, not wanting to spend an additional moment in his presence more than was necessary.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Joonghwa.”

And Beomgyu had to watch in horror as they shook hands.

“Nice to meet you; I’m Taehyun.”

At the end of the night, Taehyun call them a cab, despite Beomgyu’s insistence that they can make it home before the train stops service. But Taehyun only shakes his head, phone already to his ear, giving the driver Hyerim’s apartment address as they stand in the lobby. An expensive looking black cab pulls up — one of those fancy ones that charged you at double the rate per hour, expected from this sort of neighborhood — but Beomgyu is too exhausted to argue then, allowing Taehyun to usher him in the back before following. He gives Beomgyu’s address and then they’re off.

Light from the streetlamps whizzed past the cab window, illuminating Taehyun’s features at intervals, but it was still enough for Beomgyu to marvel at his long lashes and large eyes.

It was silent, neither of them feeling up for conversation after a good four hours of it this evening. Until: “Is everything okay?”

Beomgyu’s first instinct was to deny. He didn’t want Taehyun to know about everything. He didn’t want Taehyun to be burdened with the knowledge that he’d skipped rehearsal for him — that was his own responsibility to bear. Maybe most of all, he didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Yeah, I’m just really tired,” Beomgyu replied, leaning his head against Taehyun’s shoulder and closing his eyes, murmuring, “Wake me up when we get to my place.”

──────

When Beomgyu was young, his family moved to a house slotted into a quaint neighborhood in Seoul — the sort where everyone kept to themselves, too busy trying to build their own lives, and nothing ever happened.

There weren’t a lot of other kids to play with before Soobin had moved into the neighborhood, so back then Beomgyu often found himself on the strip of road outside his house by himself, riding his bike or lying on the rough asphalt staring up at the clouds. There was a large tree in his neighbors yard, so large the edge of its branches peaked over their fence and its canopy rose high above it, affording Beomgyu a view of pale, white peaches.

As young boys of age nine were wont to do, Beomgyu thought it would be a good idea to climb his neighbor’s fence and pick one. No one ever bothered him when he was out playing, his only companion the occasional bark of a dog from down the street and the monotonous drone of a rare car passing by, so he had deduced that no one would ever catch him.

He was wrong. After a stern talking to from his father, a mumbled, reluctant apology to a red-faced neighbor, and a weekend barred from spending free time out on the street, the message was clear to Beomgyu: stay away from the peach tree.

But of course, being told that he wasn’t allowed to do something only made the tree so much more fascinating to him. Now, instead of staring up at the sky, he would stare at the far edges of the tree, willing for one fuzzy, pink fruit to fall. Until one day, as he dashed out of his house, his eyes flitting over to the tree as was customary, there, just on this side of the fence, lying on the edge of the heated road was a sparkling, shiny peach.

Letting out a squeal of excitement, the younger Beomgyu had bolted over immediately, eager to reap the benefits of his patience and obedience. Squatting down, he’d poked and prodded at the peach — it wouldn’t budge. It felt soft to the touch, and growing bolder, Beomgyu gave it a firm push, rolling it over. The underside of it had partly smushed into the road, leaving behind a sticky trail, shiny under the afternoon sun. Dejected, Beomgyu continued to squish at the tender skin, finally giving a swift, launching kick to the offending fruit, sending it rolling down the road.

It was overripe — tender and burnt from sitting on the blacktop. A perfectly good peach gone to waste, neglected under the blistering sun.

Beomgyu didn’t know why that peach and his childhood disappointment suddenly came to mind as he fell into bed just shy of 2 A.M. It had been a little before midnight again when Beomgyu got home that night, his limbs feeling heavy and his body completely drained.

The sudden onslaught of frenzied chaos in his life had officially overstayed its welcome. If he’d thought he’d been busy prior to the premiere of the show, things were doubly hectic now. Not only did he have rehearsals and filming, there were endless interviews, pressers and events to attend. There was no time to call Taehyun now. Not when on most days Beomgyu’s brain felt like complete mush by the time he got home, barely managing to kick off his shoes before falling on his bed, eyes closing before his head even hit the pillow.

As his eyes slipped close and he reminded himself to text Taehyun back in the morning, Beomgyu wondered, distantly, if neglected, love could become overripe, too.

A faint ringing woke Beomgyu up the next morning — and as he scrambled to reach for his phone on his bedside table, the half-formed thought of _Taehyun_ passed through his mind before he registered the name on his screen: Insong.

“Hello?” Beomgyu answered groggily, fighting his body’s every instinct to lie back down on his soft pillow and return to the blissful, brief respite of sleep.

“Beomgyu-ssi, where are you? The driver just called me, he said he’s waiting outside your building.”

Panic flooded Beomgyu’s system as he held his phone away from his ear to check the time — fuck. Sleep was the furthest thing on his mind now as he sprinted out of bed, apologizing to Insong and promising to be down in ten minutes.

The use of a company car had first become necessary two weeks after Hyerim’s reception, when Beomgyu had been waiting on the platform at his stop. It wasn’t like they were trying to be discreet: A large telephoto lens out in the open, close enough Beomgyu could hear faint clicks as the shutter went off in quick succession.

Alarmed, Beomgyu had darted into the first train that had approached, feeling uncomfortable and strangely violated. It wasn’t like what they were doing was against the law — he was in a public space after all, he was supposedly a public figure now after all. Yet that encounter made him wary as he arrived back at the platform that evening, and that uneasy feeling trailed him all the way home.

Apparently, that wasn’t the only thing that followed him home. The next morning, as he left his apartment, the previous morning’s encounter mostly dismissed since none of the photos seemed to have made it onto the wider Internet, Beomgyu had been greeted with multiple cameras.

Since then, Insong has been sending him a car every morning, and when he gets off work, he’ll call for a cab that his company has agreed to reimburse. This was normal, Insong explained, no big deal. But it somehow felt like a big deal to Beomgyu, who now not only got to experience what the other side of fame was like — both the perks and the burdens — but it severely limited his ability to go out and out say, meet up with his boyfriend or friends.

Today: A photoshoot for a magazine cover in the morning, rehearsals for a few hours in the afternoon, and then training with Joonghwa for their biggest fight scene yet — slotted for the last episode of the first cour of the season before the show took a three month break off the air.

Tomorrow: An 8 A.M. call time, wardrobe fittings before noon, filming all throughout the afternoon, last minute rehearsals late into the night.

The next day: Script rewrites he was supposed to memorize for the next week, a cast interview with a local radio station, and then an event at night for the premiere of an indie film.

And as the weeks whipped by at lightning speed, that overripe peach stayed on Beomgyu’s mind.

Another thing on his mind: “Just show me you won’t hurt me again.”

Beomgyu was trying. He really was.

Amidst the neverending spiral of work, Beomgyu answers texts, and the occasional call — when he could — always trying his best to sound upbeat and cheerful. He replies with cute stickers to the funny memes Taehyun sends him and dutifully returns photos of the evening view on campus with whatever he can show of that day’s set. And he hopes Taehyun doesn’t feel the edges of their relationship growing soft, melting into the road. He hopes it’s just all in his head as their messages grow less frequent, when Taeyun stops asking if he has time to call before bed tonight.

Missing his boyfriend was normal, Beomgyu told himself. And he used that to excuse away the worries and doubts in the recesses of his mind, reminding him how easily it was to fail. They clung to him like the syrupy residue of a rotten peach. Or maybe they were just cobwebs, lingering all these years, because he’d never managed to clear them out.

But maybe even more potent: A deep frustration that underlied his fears. Hadn’t he said Taehyun could trust him? Things weren’t supposed to be like this — not again. He was supposed to do better this time. He wasn’t supposed to be scared anymore. Didn’t he already know how stupid this was? That his fears had never been grounded in reality, that the eventual doom of their relationship had been him and him alone?

Perhaps it was a blessing that Beomgyu was so busy, so Taehyun wouldn’t see how close he was to letting him down.

It was the most innocuous thing that started the countdown: A text from Insong.

_Come in before you leave on the 16th to sign some releases._

──────

Today was the day.

And Beomgyu could almost cry.

He was going to finally see Taehyun after over a month of missed calls and sporadic texts. Beomgyu tried not to think of the reason for his rare free time and the reason for the constant ticking clock on his mind: In two weeks they would be moving their entire production to Jeju. Three months of on location filming for the second cour of the show. Beomgyu knew it was coming, had breezily skimmed over it in his contract, but that day — which carried an air of finality with it — was approaching too fast.

The ultimate proof of Beomgyu’s devotion was that he was willing to wake up before noon on his only day off in months just so he could see Taehyun. Beomgyu texted as much to Taehyun after he woke up at 10 — still considered sleeping in nowadays. Not that he missed the days where he would sleep until noon and lay in bed for hours, aimless.

Just as he finished making coffee, he heard the chirp from his phone. Bounding over to where he’d discarded it on his bed, Beomgyu excitedly swiped open Taehyun’s message, expecting a reply to his “Good morning!” from a few minutes ago.

 **Taehyun:** holy shit  
**Taehyun:** I think a pipe just burst in our bathroom

 **Beomgyu:** WHAT?  
**Beomgyu:** WHAT DO YOU MEAN BURST?

 **Taehyun:** I MEAN  
**Taehyun:** water is EVERYWHERE  
**Taehyun:** I called maintenance but i don’t know when they’ll get here  
**Taehyun:** I’m so sorry  
**Taehyun:** idk if I can leave today

 **Beomgyu:** omg it’s okay  
**Beomgyu:** it sounds bad  
**Beomgyu:** and we can still go after it’s fixed right

 **Taehyun:** yeah  
**Taehyun:** sorry Ive got to go help Hueningkai with the bathroom he’s yelling  
**Taehyun:** ifthey get here before noon we can still go!

Beomgyu stood in the middle of his room, the ends of his hair dripping water onto his carpet, staring down at Taehyun’s last, rushed text — from two hours ago. It was now past noon, but he hadn’t received any updates since. Beomgyu’s thumb hovered over the screen, trying not to feel neglected. It wasn’t like Taehyun was doing this on purpose, he was probably busy trying to save his entire apartment from being flooded or something. Yeah, yeah, that was it.

Even still, Beomgyu couldn’t help himself from typing.

 **Beomgyu:** how is it going are they going to be able to fix it

He flopped back onto his bed, suddenly feeling the urge to burrow back under the covers and go back to sleep despite waking up with such vigor earlier today. He idly played with his phone, not able to stay on one app for long before switching for another chat or SNS or game. When his phone rang with the sound of a new text, he tapped the message flag at the top before he could read the preview.

 **Taehyun:** they came awhile ago but they’re stilllooking at it  
**Taehyun:** I think it’s bad though  
**Taehyun:** they’re taking a long time and someone just left to get something

 **Beomgyu:** did it stop flooding??

 **Taehyun:** not at all

 **Beomgyu:** oh shit wait what about your stuff

 **Taehyun:** we don’t have too much in our bathroom thank god  
**Taehyun:** we moved our mats and stuff out even though they’re all soaked  
**Taehyun:** it might cause water damage though

 **Beomgyu:** oh wtf that sucks i’m sorry hyunnie :(

Beomgyu gnawed on his lower lip — torn. He didn’t want to be a bother, now was clearly not the best time for Taehyun, but he wanted to see him so bad. Despite all his other feelings and insecurities and worries, Beomgyu _did_ miss his boyfriend.

 **Beomgyu:** it’s okay you don’t have to worry about meeting up today  
**Beomgyu:** we’ll just do it next time i’m off

 **Taehyun:** i’m really sorry hyung  
**Taehyun:** I miss you it fucking sucks this happened today

 **Beomgyu:** don’t worry hyunnie  
**Beomgyu:** take care of everything first let me know how it goes

 **Taehyun:** okay I will I gotta go help move some stuff outside now  
**Taehyun:** thank you I love you

 **Beomgyu:** love you!!!

Beomgyu breathed out, feeling the last embers of his anticipation fading. He knew it wasn’t Taehyun’s fault; he wouldn’t think to blame him, but Beomgyu couldn’t help but feel deeply disappointed. Burying his face in his pillow, Beomgyu sighed, feeling the vastness of a whole day ahead of him. He wanted to give in to the temptation of wasting away just one day — the first in such a long time — but instead, he swiped out of his and Taehyun’s chat, pulling up another name.

 **Beomgyu:** hyung!! what are you doing today?

 **Yeonjun:** YOURE ALIVE  
**Yeonjun:** play me back in pong wtf  
**Yeonjun:** i’m fting my friend rn but i’m free later why

 **Beomgyu:** want to hang out?  
**Beomgyu:** how long until you’re done

 **Yeonjun:** she’s from the states so she’ll probably sleep soon  
**Yeonjun:** have you had lunch?

 **Beomgyu:** no lets eat!!!

Beomgyu quickly finalized plans with Yeonjun, agreeing to meet an hour later at a station near Yeonjun’s apartment. Was he an awful friend for feeling like this was a consolation prize? He tried not to think about it as he put on his face mask, locked up and walked, head down, to the train.

“Is that really you?” Came a booming voice from somewhere to Beomgyu’s left, which made him, and anyone in a three meter radius around him, jerk their head towards the noise.

Beomgyu’s grin stretched wide, crinkling the edges of his eyes as he spotted Yeonjun hopping up and down behind the crowd at the barriers. When Yeonjun finally reached him, Beomgyu gave him a light smack on the shoulder, though his eyes were void of any actual annoyance. “What part of ‘I didn’t tell Insong I was leaving my house today so we have to be discreet’ did you not get?”

Yeonjun snickered, “Sorry, I was excited to see you after _two whole months._ Besides, will anyone even recognize you? Your hair is so long now.”

Beomgyu’s hand reached up to tug at his long locks, the sides of which almost reached the bottom half of his ears now. “I keep wanting to cut it, but I’m pretty sure the stylists would have a conniption.”

“Okay, so what’s stopping you?” Yeonjun asked cheekily, leading the way out of the station. “You kind of look like a mushroom.”

Their plan for today revolved around the usual: Food. And on the menu was a little, street-side make-your-own ramen place the two favored, complete with basement seating (“If you’re so worried about people seeing you,” Yeonjun had said).

The line was gratefully short, but Beomgyu made sure to keep his face mask pulled up until he sat opposite Yeonjun, each with their large bowls in front of them, downstairs.

“So you like working at the studio?” Beomgyu asked, blowing on his soup, picking up their conversation from before they’d ordered.

“Yeah, it’s so fun. I think I’m going to try teaching a hip-hop class next semester.”

“You should!” Beomgyu said, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“You should come take it if you’re free.”

Beomgyu scrunched his nose. “Hyung, remember when you convinced me to join the intramural team sophomore year? I was _so bad._ ”

After eight weeks of forgetting the choreo, forgetting his position in the formation, one too many improv dance breaks, and what could be classified as coordinated flailing at best and concentrated thrashing at worst, Beomgyu had decided dancing was not for him, thank you very much.

“Okay, you kind of sucked,” Yeonjun conceded. “But everyone liked you! They voted you MVP.”

“That was a pity vote and you know it, there was no way I was getting any other superlative.”

“Okay, but they still voted for you.”

“I was just nice to everyone, that doesn’t mean I can _dance._ ”

“So you’re not going to come support me?” Yeonjun asked, pouting.

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, but then sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll even have time.”

Yeonjun nodded, pausing his eating to take a sip of water. “Yeah, Taehyun said you’ve been really busy lately. I mean, even I know that because you never play me back in Cup Pong.”

“Yeah, and—” Beomgyu paused, contemplating for a second whether or not now was the time to drop this bombshell. He’d been putting it off for a reason. “I’m going away to Jeju.”

Yeonjun choked on his water. “You’re—” He coughed a few times, sputtering, before he could continue. “Why are you going to Jeju?”

“We’re going to film, um, on location there,” Beomgyu pushed his noodles around at the bottom of his bowl, not quite meeting Yeonjun’s eyes.

“Um, okay, so, what? How long are you going to be there?”

“Three months,” Beomgyu grimaced, knowing how guilty he looked.

Yeonjun gave him a shrewd glare. “Beomgyu … does Taehyun know?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” Beomgyu rushed out. “But— please don’t tell him. I will; I was going to tell him today, but, he— something came up so I thought we could hang out instead.”

“First of all, ouch, I can’t believe I’m your second choice,” Yeonjun joked, his raised brow indicating that he wasn’t actually hurt. “But second of all, when are you leaving? You’ve got to tell him before you go, come on.”

“I know,” Beomgyu gripped. “I wanted to tell him in person, because maybe it won’t, you know, be as hard that way, but I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

“Be able to? Wait— when are you leaving?”

“In two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Yeonjun asks incredulously.

“I know, I know,” Beomgyu cringed. “I feel really bad, like I said, I was going to tell him today.”

“Two weeks is not enough,” Yeonjun argued. “You all knew I was going to America for months, and Soobin and I weren’t even dating back then!”

Beomgyu sighed, finally glancing up at Yeonjun. The other boy looked concerned, and Beomgyu wanted to tell him to stop furrowing his brows or else he’d develop frown lines. Now was probably not the time. “I don’t know,” Beomgyu mumbled. “We’ve been busy — it never felt like the right time. Like, I’ve barely been able to spend time with him this past month, how can I tell him I’m going to be gone for so long?”

“If he wasn’t going to like it anyway, he definitely won’t like it now. You should just tell him,” Yeonjun said with finality, almost breezily, as if it was a done deal.

Beomgyu chewed on his lip, wincing slightly at the hint of spice lingering from his food. “I don’t know …”

“What do you mean?” Yeonjun said. “You can’t not tell him, Beomgyu.”

“I will! I’m just … I don’t know, what if he gets mad at me?”

“You really did this to yourself,” Yeonjun commented, pointing his finger at Beomgyu. “But I think he’ll be more upset that you waited to tell him rather than you having to go away. So the sooner you tell him, the better.”

Beomgyu nodded. He got where Yeonjun was coming from, he really did. He’d known for weeks now, ever since he got Insong’s text, that he would need to tell Taehyun eventually. But he’d allowed being busy and feeling tired and Taehyun’s final projects and exams for school convince him that it was never the right time. But now Beomgyu was dangerously close to running out of it.

There was also this: He was scared. Because— “What if he breaks up with me?”

Yeonjun coughed with a mouthful of noodles. Swallowing hard before pinning Beomgyu with an unbelievable look. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know!” Beomgyu exclaimed, too embroiled in his own woes that he didn’t care if someone spotted him anymore. “Isn’t it a lot to ask? For him to wait for me for three months?”

Yeonjun shook his head, his frown deeper now, a full on scowl, “He waited for you for two years.”

Beomgyu froze, taken aback by the sheer force of Yeonjun’s delivery — low and merciless. “How— what, how do you know that?”

Yeonjun looked to his left, breaking their eye contact, as if he was just as uncomfortable as Beomgyu felt, before he spoked, “Look, I don’t know what he’s said or what the two of you talked about when you got back together, but maybe a few months— no, like half a year, after you guys broke up, Taehyun suddenly called me out of nowhere. He wanted to talk — about you. I guess he’d already spoken to Soobin, but he knew we were close, too.

“Honestly, I never thought Taehyun was the kind of person to talk about his feelings, and I felt awkward as hell during some of it, but I guess he wanted advice. He didn’t really give me specifics, but the one thing I took away from it was that he missed you a lot. I’m pretty sure he was still in love with you, Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu could do nothing but stare as the beating of his heart seemed to grow louder and louder and faster and faster with every word Yeonjun said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At first, I was going to — no offense to Taehuyn — since we’re closer. But he made me promise, and he said he didn’t want you to feel bad, or like, feel like you were obligated to be with him. He wanted you to choose him, I think.”

“I— I didn’t know you and Taehyun were so close.” ‘I don’t know’ really seemed to be the theme of today.

“Yeah, me neither,” Yeonjun quipped, amused. “Like I said, I never really expected that from him. But it was fine, we’re friends.”

Beomgyu remembered what Taehyun had told him: _“You taught me a lot about how to be vulnerable."_ And once more, Beomgyu felt guilty. Not just for delaying the inevitable, but also for how he’d been feeling: His doubts and insecurities and repeating, cyclical fears. He really was the only one who hadn’t changed. What did Taehyun need him for now?

He must have looked the way he felt: Lost, bewildered, fearful. Because at Beomgyu’s silence, Yeonjun reached out and did something he rarely did, or hadn’t done since Beomgyu had been a small freshman in high school. Beomgyu felt the warm press of Yeonjun’s hand as he ruffled his hair, feeling stray tendrils brush against his eyes — he really did need a haircut.

“I don’t think Taehyun is the type of person to break up with you over this. Just talk to him.”

Beomgyu pressed his lips together, nodding slowly, eyes still unfocused.

──────

It was ironic, really, how the blinking of a cursor could so accurately match the pounding of his heart — or the steady, ominous ticking of a clock.

Beomgyu stared down at the blinking, offending line below his messages with Taehyun: A familiar view. He bit his lip as his thumb glided up their chat, re-reading their latest correspondence. How many times had he typed out these words now? He tried starting off his message with “sorry, I forgot” or “sorry I didn’t mention before” or just plain “sorry.” But it all felt trite.

Despite his warring emotions, Beomgyu still managed to crack a smile as he played Taehyun’s last message: A video of a stray squirrel that was really nothing more than a fuzzy blur as it scurried up a tree on campus. Taehyun’s excited squeal could be heard behind the camera as he exclaimed, “A squirrel! A squirrel!”

Beomgyu tapped the screen with his thumb, looking at the time stamp on his own reply. Three hours ago. He took a deep breath — and heard the distinct voice of Wonjun calling for them from outside the green room.

Guilty and relieved, he set his phone aside, quick to hop out of his seat. He would do it later. Tonight.

For sure.

But of course he didn’t. And now it was a week until his doomed departure date, and it was way past midnight once more, and Beomgyu knew he was out of time. Somehow, over the past month of avoidance and overthinking, this small thing had snowballed into an insurmountable obstacle. Beomgyu knew it was mostly his doing, his fault for putting it off for so long — but it was impossible to quiet the misgivings in the back of his mind. The ones that whispered that Taehyun would decide that the years of being broken up were better instead, that he would realize he didn’t need Beomgyu anymore — that Beomgyu was, and always had been, the one who was more in love.

As he curled in a ball on his side, tightly under his blankets with his phone clutched in his hands looking at that damn cursor once more, Beomgyu tried to remember what Yeonjun had told him a week ago. How Taehyun had still been in love with him — maybe — so long after their break up. But instead of calming his heart, it only made him feel so much worse. Taehyun deserved a lot better than this.

Maybe it was that thought that broke him after all.

 **Beomgyu:** are you awake

Beomgyu curled in on himself even more, phone inches from his nose, the only sound in his room the faint noise of cars outside and his heart’s staccato rhythm echoing in his ears. Beomgyu held his breath.

 **Taehyun:** yeah  
**Taehyun:** did you just get home

His hands shook as he typed out the only coherent thought he could cling onto.

 **Beomgyu:** can you come over i need to see you please

And then he waited.

The first thing Beomgyu heard when he opened the door, teary-eyed and vulnerable, was “oh, thank god” before he felt Taehyun’s firm arms around him. And then he was enveloped in a warm embrace, and Beomgyu couldn’t stem his tears any longer.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, over and over into Taehyun’s shoulder, his repeated litany mostly incoherent. He didn’t know for how long he cried, but all through it, Taehyun coddled him and cooed and gently rubbed his back until his quick gasps had quieted and all that remained were wet cheeks and distinct, sporadic sniffles.

Taehyun must have somehow maneuvered them both into Beomgyu’s entryway, because when he felt Taehyun pull away, Beomgyu registered that his front door was — thankfully — closed. Beomgyu could see his darkened lashes in his peripheral vision, weighted down with tears, as Taehyun took a smooth thumb across his cheeks. “Why are you sorry?” It was asked with the utmost care, but Beomgyu didn’t miss the wariness in Taehyun’s gaze.

And it made him feel all the more awful, fresh tears pooling, though he at last tried to keep it together because Taehyun deserved an answer. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I tried to do better this time, but I don’t think I can.”

Beomgyu dissolved into tears once more, too embarrassed and scared to properly explain as every negative, anxious thought from the past few months coalesced in his brain. Taehyun seemed to understand, pulling Beomgyu close in a hug once more, awkwardly, slowly shuffling them further into Beomgyu’s apartment so they could sit on the couch even as he continued to cry.

When Beomgyu finally quieted for the second time, Taehyun offered him a tissue from the box on the table. He smiled gratefully, blowing his nose before trying to rub his eyes dry. “Sorry I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay,” Taehyun said, cautiously. He was leaning sideways on the couch, shoulder pressed into the back of it so he could face Beomgyu. He looked concerned. “Are you— Why are you …”

Beomgyu swallowed past the lump in his throat as Taehyun’s unfinished question hung in the air. “I’m leaving,” He was a coward. “I’m leaving for Jeju next week.”

Taehyun’s brows furrowed. “For how long?”

“Three months,” Beomgyu’s voice was hoarse.

Rather than the anger Beomgyu had been expecting, Taehyun seemed confused more than anything. His next question was hesitant, “Do you … not want to go?”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Beomgyu mumbled, and as if to punctuate his words he reached out to tug the bottom hem of Taehyun’s sweatshirt. The other boy let him.

He heard more than saw Taehyun’s quick inhale of breath. “I’ll miss you, too. It’s just three months. It’ll be okay, right?”

And in his question, Beomgyu heard echoes of his own fears, the ones that rattled around inside his chest making it hard to breathe even now. He knew what Taehyun was really asking: _We’ll_ be okay, right? He really, really wanted to say yes. What came out instead was a broken whisper. “Taehyun, I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of? I’m here.”

He nearly started crying again at the tenderness in Taehyun’s tone, except his body must have had enough of him today, because even as the edge of his eyes prickled, no new tears came. Maybe he really was all cried out. Maybe it was finally time to be what he said he would be: Brave.

“I really tried to not be. I didn’t want you to know … because— because you’ve become a whole other person who can deal with your feelings and maybe that’s why you felt like you needed me before but now … you don’t,” Beomgyu took a deep breath. “What if you decide you don’t want to be with me anymore? I didn’t want you to see me upset, because you might realize you were happier without me and I— I know it sounds so stupid, but I can’t help but feel … terrified that I’m ruining this all over again, that I haven’t changed at all.”

Beomgyu was too preoccupied with somehow turning the looming, terrifying mess in his brain into coherent words — the best he could do for the boy he loved — to notice Taehyun reaching out until he was once more enveloped in tight arms. Beomgyu’s breath rushed out of him in a swift exhale, the words he’d painstakingly lined up on the tip of his tongue fading as he leaned into Taehyun’s hold.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“Maybe since … since the premiere. Maybe before — I don’t know.” In touch with his feelings, Beomgyu was not.

“You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you, Hyunnie.” Beomgyu mumbled. “I wanted to do better for you.”

“You were worried I would … what? Break up with you if you told me?”

Ah, it seems he was not all cried out after all. “Yes.”

“Hyung, why are you like this?” There was no malice in Taehyun’s words, despite their heavy implications. “When we were in high school, too, why do you think I’d be so willing to leave you if you told me about your feelings? Isn’t that why you broke up with me back then? Because you didn’t want to talk about your fears? Because you thought I’d leave you, so you decided to do it first?”

“I don’t know!” Beomgyu nearly wailed, arms returning Taehyun’s hug and wrapping around the other boy’s waist, as if he could forcibly anchor them together. “I’m sorry! Please don’t go.”

He heard Taehyun’s sigh against the crown of his head as fresh tears stained the redhead’s sweater. Taehyun soothingly patted his back. “I won’t, hyung, I won’t.”

As Beomgyu's breathing slowly steadied out for the third time tonight, he heard Taehyun’s voice from above. Down here, with his ear pressed against the other’s chest, his voice sounded deeper, it resonated louder. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to— to use yourself up like this. The Beomgyu who is bright and glowing like the sun, and the Beomgyu who is upset or unsure — all of it is the Beomgyu I love. Even if I’d like for you to always be happy, when you're frustrated or worried or exhausted, you are still beautiful.

“You have changed, hyung. Don’t you think I could feel you pulling away from me? Did you think I couldn’t tell? But I said I would trust you and … I was so relieved when I got your text tonight,” Taehyun paused, as if he, too, was still struggling, as if he, too, needed to work up the courage to say what he wanted. “Thank you, for not running away this time.”

Beomgyu could only nod, basking in Taehyun’s absolution, as if he was receiving an invocation, as if Taehyun was slowly, surely setting him free.

──────

“I can’t believe I am witnessing, for the first time in my life, Kang Taehyun skipping class!” Beomgyu giggled.

“Shut up, do you want me to see you off or not?” Taehyun sniffed, even as he looped his arm through Beomgyu’s. “I could turn around right now; my lecture doesn’t start for another 20 minutes.”

“You would never!” Beomgyu teased. “You have spent the past week telling me how much you’d miss me when I go.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t want you to start crying on me again.”

“Hyunnie, don’t use that against me!” Beomgyu protested, his lips jutting out in a pout that quickly disappeared when he spotted the mini convenience store inside the train station. “Ooh, let me get some onigiri for the trip.”

Beomgyu left Taehyun’s side to grab some prepackaged food and a drink from the cooler before lining up to pay. He wasn’t sure where the younger had gone until two popsicles dropped on top of his purchases on the counter.

“While we wait,” was all Taehyun said. Beomgyu’s smile was blinding.

It wasn’t like he still didn’t have his fears. They were far too deep-rooted to be fully appeased by affectionate words alone. It was still hard for Beomgyu to not give into his uncertainties and apprehensions, but Taehyun had made him promise to not hide away anymore. Whenever he felt within reach of those familiar fears, he would text Taehyun, praying he’d still be there. He always was. But it was still hard, all the time.

Beomgyu took his time with his ice cream even though Taehyun had finished his fifteen minutes ago and was now eating one of the rice balls Beomgyu had bought. They sat on the station’s benches just outside Beomgyu’s platform, waiting for the train. Insong had wanted him to take a flight like most of the other cast members, but he knew Taehyun wouldn’t be able to come to the airport with him — it’d be too far.

So now, Beomgyu sat between the wall and Taehyun, face mask hanging off one ear, ready to pull on at a moment’s notice in case anyone recognized him. “Mihwan was right, my boyfriend is famous,” Taehyun had teased him when Beomgyu had told him the plan. Beomgyu giggled at the memory.

“What’s so funny?” Taehyun asked, wrapper crinkling in his hands.

“Nothing,” Beomgyu hummed, feet kicking against the ground, happy, for now. He only wanted to think of good things for their last thirty minutes together. “Do you really think you’ll be able to come visit?”

“Hmmm, yeah, I checked the exam schedule and most of mine end early. If I don’t flunk anything, I can come in the last week of August.”

“Please, you won’t flunk anything.”

“My classes this semester are hard, hyung.”

“But don’t you want to come see me?”

“Of course.”

“So you won’t flunk anything!” Beomgyu repeated with a satisfied nod.

Taehyun swatted his arm. They talked idly of small, light things for the remainder of the time: A mobile game Taehyun has been playing recently thanks to Hueningkai, a shirt Beomgyu was thinking of ordering because he saw it on some model in a magazine, what they would do for Yeonjun’s birthday when Beomgyu was back in Seoul.

Just as they were scrolling through Beomgyu’s camera roll, trying to find a photo of a shirt Beomgyu insisted was pink but Taehyun swore was purple, the intercom above them buzzed with the arrival of Beomgyu’s train. He felt his heart drop. He wanted to beg Taehyun to come with him, as irrational as he knew it was.

But Taehyun was already standing up, holding his bag, hand reaching out for Beomgyu’s to walk him to the ticketing doors. With Taehyun’s warm palm against his own, things didn’t seem so bad. And then they were hugging goodbye, a chaste kiss before Taehyun reached out to hook Beomgyu’s face mask securely with a, “Be careful, hyung.”

And then they parted.

Beomgyu showing the man his ticket before he was ushered to the correct compartment. Before he could even step foot on the train, he felt the phone in his jacket pocket buzz.

 **Taehyun:** I’ll miss you  
**Taehyun:** I know you’ll do great  
**Taehyun:** Don’t forget to wear sunscreen  
**Taehyun:** Take the vitamins I put in your bag  
**Taehyun:** Call me every night  
**Taehyun:** I don’t care how late  
**Taehyun:** I love you  
**Taehyun:** I love you  
**Taehyun:** I love you

Phone in hand, still buzzing from Taehyun’s continuous texts, Beomgyu allowed that to settle his heart all the way to Jeju.

──────

No matter how many times Taehyun did it, letting himself into Beomgyu’s apartment still felt unfamiliar.

It shouldn’t feel like he was intruding on a private space. He’d been here so many times before; Beomgyu had given him the keys so he could come air out the place once in a while, maybe check his mail. Even still, the quiet in the apartment that greeted him when he entered was unsettling.

Good thing today was the last time he would need to do this.

Maybe he’d gone a little overboard for Beomgyu’s homecoming. It wasn’t like it was a grand thing. Taehyun’s class ended right when Beomgyu’s flight would be landing, so he hadn’t been able to go meet him like he wanted. “The airport will probably be swarming with cameras anyway,” Beomgyu had said on their last call. And Beomgyu would be coming off a tiring flight and schedule, so Taehyun had decided against a surprise party. It was just him. And a bouquet of flowers. And a strangely cute dinosaur plushie he’d bought on a whim but couldn’t help but feel was kind of silly now. Nevertheless, he took his time arranging his gifts on the living room table, before doing what he usually did to air out and give the place a light dusting.

He finished his tasks faster than usual today. _Stop it,_ he told himself. There was nothing to be worried about. And yet as he sat on the sofa, idling swiping through his phone, he felt his leg shake with anticipation. Unbidden, his finger tapped on his photo gallery, and he found himself looking through the photos he’d taken just three weeks ago: A photo of them pressed cheek to cheek under a stray streetlight on their way back from dinner, one of him staring impatiently in the camera — after Beomgyu had whisked his phone away exclaiming the lighting was _perfect —_ and finally, one of Beomgyu, smiling under the sun, the ends of his hair clinging to his rounded cheeks. Taehyun felt his heart swell.

His reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

_He’s here. He’s here. He’s here._

“Taehyun?”

“In here, sweetheart.”

Taehyun had planned on acting casual. He knew Beomgyu would only tease him if he seemed too eager, but hearing the thud of a bag in the hallway, Taehyun felt himself rise, his legs rushing him over to the opening to the hallway until — a dark-haired rocket clothed in a light blue sweater and jeans came hurtling at him, making impact with a soft thud.

“I’m home,” Beomgyu chirped, rocking them back and forth with their arms still around the other. _“Sweetheart.”_

Taehyun laughed, feeling almost giddy at the endearment, which never failed to send a thrill through him, even though they’d been using it ever since Mihwan caught Beomgyu calling him early in the morning before rehearsals, her loud _“oh my god, Beomgyu is on the phone with his sweetheart”_ in the background easily discernible. It’d started off as a joke, but Taehyun was secretly pleased it had stayed a habit.

Beomgyu finally released him to pick up his bag and rush fully into his apartment, shouting with excitement as he saw the flowers and plushie on the table. “It’s you!” Beomgyu exclaimed as he picked up the plushie, which made Taehyun burst into laughter.

“Hyung, how the hell is that _me?_ ”

“Because you have dinosaur teeth!” Beomgyu proclaimed, like it was the most obvious thing, still gripping the plushie as he approached Taehyun again.

“You always say that; they’re just teeth.”

“No, they’re so cute, you’re like a little dinosaur,” Beomgyu insisted, wrapping his arm around Taehyun’s waist. It would be cute if not for the way the plushie was squished between them.

“Fine, if you say so.”

Beomgyu laughed, “You’re smiling, don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Taehyun only smiled wider, showing off his supposed best feature. After a few moments of basking, and a few more moments of cajoling Beomgyu into unpacking, Taehyun settled on the sofa, watching as the whirlwind that was his boyfriend haphazardly tossed things in the wash and into his bedroom, eager to finish so they could order food like Taehyun promised.

 _It doesn’t feel so strange to be here anymore_ , he thought. As a towel narrowly missed his head, flying behind him and through the doorway into Beomgyu’s room, Taehyun thought, actually, it kind of felt like home now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're here at the end!!! this update took longer than usual, but i hope i made up for it with a longer than usual chapter (and a happy ending)! i say this every time but thank you, thank you, thank you if you decided to finish this au with me. i hope you've enjoyed it and that it's been worth your time!
> 
> to everyone who has left me comments, here or on twitter: i always run out of things to reply with, but know i'm super happy and grateful for all your kind words! and to my friends mags and lex who have watched me struggle through this au and yelled at me for making taegyu too sad: i'm so lucky to be able to write with you both thank you for helping me finish! 
> 
> finally, [here is the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21DmVANIdcIFNOycNwy1wX?si=tGUs1Nn1RbmYtpe-0GADyg) that i listened to while writing this au, i especially recommend your dog loves you and hug me!


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